


Home Is A Wandering Thing

by seamscribe



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, F/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Hawthornes become a part of Katniss Everdeen's family, they're scraping by, but they're together. </p><p>When the Hawthornes become her ONLY family, they're torn apart. It's up to her to keep them together in the face of a cold system. </p><p>She just hopes the new home where they'll be reunited won't be too good to be true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters and I know nothing of the inner-workings of the foster care system. Sorry, social workers!

 

 

 

Home Is A Wandering Thing

 

 

I'm seeing my family today.

 

It's been nine months, three weeks, and three days since we were all able to get into the same room at once. The chances I've had to see any of them have been few and far between, and rarely for more than a few minutes, never long enough for them to really tell me anything. Posy seems normal, but I can tell that Rory and Vick have changed, not as much as I was afraid of, but still there. I feel both proud and angry that we've all toughened up so much. We've already had to be so tough.

 

It's not my family, technically. I am not a true Hawthorne. I'm an Everdeen. I am the _last_ Everdeen. Dad's dead. Mom's dead. Prim's dead. Her name echoes in my head, _Primrose_. I dream that she calls my name while the house burns down around her. It was an electrical fire from a loose outlet I had been meaning to fix. I just hadn't gotten around to it. I almost followed them a few days later. Mom was a home care nurse for years, so she had a cornucopia of medications. I sat down and figured out what could kill me and how much I needed, but when the time came, I stared at all the pills on the table for hours and finally flushed them down the toilet.

 

Dad's been dead for years. That's how I ended up a Hawthorne, really. Gale Hawthorne's father was killed in the same construction accident as mine, and with four kids to take care of between our two families, we were linked forever. I'm not sure where he is today. He's not coming with us. I think he's probably at a group home. I have a feeling he has gotten kicked out of a lot of homes at this point. He's big and tall and angry, and it's enough to put people off if they never see the sweet smiles he gives his little sister or how he ruffles Rory's hair when he wants to annoy him.

 

We're supposed to be able to see our siblings—not much help for me, but still—any time we want, but it became clear pretty fast in some homes that it wasn't a good idea. It felt so easy to lose each other.

 

I'm excited but a little concerned. I can't imagine who would want to take in all four of us. Posy is seven and sweet, it's easy to see why someone would want her. But Vick is eleven, an awkward age already, and Vick makes it plenty awkward on his own, and Rory is thirteen and already guarded. Me, well, I can't imagine anything good that someone wants with a sixteen year old. If they're expecting some kind of sexy Lolita, they'll be sorely disappointed. I've always been small, and I've done nothing but shrink into myself in the past year, since Mom and Prim and then Gale's mother, like we were being punished for something. I've learned to make myself invisible. I don't know if I'll ever be myself again. I hope Prim isn't watching me from heaven. She would hate it.

 

But there's no time to wallow. I have packing to do and I'm still curled up on the floor in the closet. My hands shake and I cry silently, knowing that this is the last time I'll be able to cry for awhile. I can't cry in front of the kids. They're scared enough already.

 

A shadow plays over the crack at the bottom the door and it's pulled open a second later by my roommate Johanna. I spare ten percent of my brain to being embarrassed, but Johanna punches her pillows in her sleep and walks around half-naked even though she has a scar on her back that runs from one shoulder to the opposite hip. I don't think she'll make fun of me or stare right past me like so many other kids have in the group home. I've only been here a few times, but it's hell. The quiet stillness that had been an asset becomes a liability here. I seem like an easy target. Girls try to corner me in the bathroom. Boys try to catch me alone. This time, I just try to make it to Thursday.

 

Johanna sits on the floor in front of the closet instead of trying to hug me. “Where ya headed?”

 

I just found out where I'm headed yesterday. “The Mellarks.”

 

“Oh, phew,” she says, and looks genuinely relieved. “You'll be fine. I mean, it's hard work—they're basically in the system for slave labor. They'll make you work in the bakery. But it's safe and they even have a farm if you wanna play country girl in the summer.”

 

“So why aren't you there?”

 

“I couldn't deal with the mother. She's psycho. I got into a screaming match with her and she sent me back. I mean, the whole family seems kind of fucked up, she—um.”

 

I tense all over. “She what?”

 

“It's...not really my secret to tell,” she says uncomfortably.

 

I'm taken aback. Tact and respect aren't really things I've come to expect from Johanna. I nod with respect.

 

“But it's safe,” she adds quickly. “The place is mostly run by one of the sons. He's not too bad.”

 

I'm worried about what she won't tell me, but if she says it's not bad, I have a little hope. Johanna never speaks kindly about foster families. In fact, she views the whole thing as 'us against them'.

 

She helps me pack and I'm at the front door waiting for my social worker before I know it. I try not to blame Effie for the things that have happened. She has so many other kids to worry about and she can't be there all day, every day to protect us. She can't tell from an hour with someone whether or not they're a monster. Some of them hide it incredibly well, so much so that the first time I whispered to someone that a boy—the brother—had come into my room and sat at the edge of my bed and ran his hands over my body while I tried not to breathe, his sister slapped me. It was hard to take a slap from a fourteen year old, but it was a valuable lesson.

 

But Effie has worked very hard to find a place for us where we can all be together, when she didn't have to. I know it was a hard sell, but this family must have been eager to get more workers. I'm not sure what seven-year-old Posy will be able to do. I worry about her getting burned. But I can't worry about the future until I get through today.

 

My stomach roils when Effie pulls up, but I forget about my nerves as soon as I see the kids all but leap out of the car and throw themselves at me, Posy screaming my name and Vick whispering it against me while he clings to my waist. I only manage to get one arm around Rory. He's lost weight.

 

Effie looks almost as excited as the kids. Tears stream down her face in purple streaks from her make-up. Johanna hangs back until the kids let go and then gives me a quick hug from behind. She disappears into the building.

 

I grab my stuff, everything I've managed to hang onto after four moves. The first time I got kicked out was because my foster sister tried to throw out my Dad's old jacket. Pretty much everything I had to remember my family by was ashes. I managed to throw the jacket out the window into the hedges before she stormed back into the room with her mother.

 

We pile into the car and Effie treats us all to ice cream. I try to say no, but she insists. I'm a little uncomfortable with how much I'm coming to owe her. This little moment of seeing the kids relatively happy means a lot. But I know she feels the same way, so I order butter pecan and smile blissfully after the first taste. She doesn't even fret about our atrocious manners.

 

 

The ice cream shop has a little playground. “Go play,” Effie tells them. Vick grumbles that he's not a baby, he does not _play_ , but the three of them go off.

 

“You know where you're going?” she asks me.

 

“Mellarks.” I stare ahead. “How did you find someone to take us all?”

 

She frowns and looks away. She presses her lips together and finally says, “I've placed a lot of children with the Mellarks.”

 

So she knows. But she probably also knows that manual labor isn't the worst we could do, by far. I don't know how she's still so soft after doing this job for four years.

 

“It sounds fine. Thanks, Effie.” I know she's itching to hug me, but she holds back.

 

Finally, we have to get to the serious part of the day. Every single one of us grows tense as we pull into the parking lot of the bakery. It's a nice enough place, with exposed, white-washed brick and an old-fashioned style sign outside that says 'Mellark's Cafe'. Then I see the cakes in the front window and I have to upgrade it from 'nice enough'.

 

There's a long counter over the glass cases, with a coffee maker and some complicated thing at the end. The pastries in here are picture-perfect, too. I can hear Posy's _oohs_ and _ahhs._ Vick tells her to pipe down. His voice is waivery and he suddenly grabs my hand, just for a second.

 

It's pretty empty and there's no one behind the counter, but the bell over the door quickly brings out a boy. I suck in a breath. He's my age, so I hope he's the brother Johanna mentioned. I don't think I can handle another slap from a fourteen-year-old.

 

He comes forward and I can see that he's definitely my age, and big, at least to me. He's actually on the shorter side but his shoulders are broad and strong-looking, I guess from all the kneading. It takes me a second to look him in the eye and my breath catches again when I do. They're the bluest things I've ever seen besides a clear sky. He has a strong jaw and hair the color of wheat that falls in waves across his forehead. His smiles a straight, white smile and says hi to Effie with a wave. Then he turns his eyes to me and holds out a hand.

 

“I'm Peeta.”

 

I take it and shake it quickly. “Katniss.”

 

He turns to the kids and says, “Now, let me see if I have it right. You must be Rory, you must be Vick, and you in the back,” he says teasingly, “Must be Posy.” She peeks around my leg and nods.

 

“Perfectly right!” Effie cries happily. “Oh, it's always such a joy to see you, Peeta.”

 

He gives Effie a big hug. I'm glad he didn't try to hug me. “You too, Effie.”

 

“Goodness, children, where are you manners?” she frets. “Say hello!”

 

We all mumble 'hello', except for Posy he jumps out from behind me and says, “Hi!”

 

“Hi, Posy! I'm excited you guys are here.” He seems sincere enough.

 

“Peeta,” Effie says, taking out her bag. “I need these papers signed. Is your father here?”

 

“No, just Mom. I'll take them up and bring them back,” he says quickly.

 

She thanks him and then turns to us. Quietly, she says, “Well, I will see you in a few weeks for a follow-up visit. Don't be afraid to call if you need me.”

 

Peeta returns in a flash with a papers. He and Effie exchange a look when he hands them over, but he cheerfully says, “All done!” He gives her another hug and says, “See ya soon.”

 

Then Effie goes out the door and we are left alone with this boy. I feel a sudden terror. I've worried about everyone else plenty of times, but I could never do anything about it. Now that we're all here together, I realize that I'm completely responsible now for keeping them safe. Until I find Gale and he's there to split the responsibility. I've never missed him so much. I hope that they'll let Rory talk to him, since they're real family.

 

Peeta cuts off an awkward pause and says, “Ready to see your room?”

 

Room, singular, for the four of us.

 

We all pick up our bags and he tries to take mine, but I jerk it away, mumbling, “I can get it.”

 

He takes us through the back of the bakery and I know the kids are staring around in curiosity. Vick is holding Posy's hand tight, so I know she's safe from the ovens. It will probably be amazing when it gets colder in a few months. Being warm will be worth the work.

 

But he leads us into the furnished basement, where it's chilly now, but could get terrible in the winter. However, it is much bigger than a pantry. There are two bunk beds in the one corner with a curtain to pull to hide them. So we'll all have our own beds. That'll be pretty nice.

 

“I know it's not much,” Peeta says quickly, although Vick has already thrown his stuff on the top bunk and declared that was dibs. Peeta must see the worry on my face because he says, “It gets cold, but we have lots of blankets and some space heaters if it's really bad.” He sounds sorry.

 

“It's plenty,” I say quietly. “Thank you.” We watch Posy take out a teddy bear and lay down happily on the bed. After a moment, I say, “Will we be working tomorrow?”

 

He doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, “How do you know about working in the bakery?”

 

“A girl who lived here. She was my roommate at the home.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Her name's Johanna.”

 

“Oh, I'm so glad,” he says. “I haven't seen Johanna in years. Is she alright?”

 

“I don't know. I mean, she lives at the home.” He looks pained and I add, “She'll be eighteen in a few months.”

 

He nods. “That's good.”

 

“It might be better this way. I can explain it to them.”

 

He doesn't say anything to that. He says, “You might as well start tomorrow. 5:30.”

 

He asks if we're hungry and says he'll bring us sandwiches before we can respond.

 

I turn to Rory and wave him over while the other two are distracted. “Are you alright?”

 

“I'm alright,” he says. His voice is gruff and I have to remind myself that nine months is a long time. He finally gives me a full hug and doesn't let go for a long moment.

 

“My friend at the home said we'll be okay here,” I whisper.

 

“What's 'okay'?”

 

“She said 'safe'.” He nods grimly and my eyes sting. “We'll work in the bakery.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Peeta comes back with a basket of wrapped-up sandwiches and a tray of lemonades. I think we all look shocked at being _served_ food, but Peeta doesn't notice, or probably pretends not to notice. He must have seen dozens of kids looking at food like they've never eaten.

 

“I'll let you guys get settled. There's a bathroom in the corner with towels and stuff. I'm upstairs at the back, off the hallway.” I have no idea where that is, but I nod. “Let me know if you need anything.” He hesitates and then puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

 

I force a smile but I think it's pretty weak. “Thanks, Peeta.” He goes up the stairs and I have to admit that I'm glad.

 

We tear into the sandwiches, which are on some kind of fancy bread with some kind of fancy meat and fancy cheese. I'm sure it's the fanciest thing we've evereaten, and the kids get excited and start picking it apart to see what's inside. After we stuff ourselves, we find the chest with extra blankets and even some pairs of thick, wool socks. Then Posy finds a stack of board games and insists that we all play. Vick and Rory grumble, but we play three rounds because Posy loves it so much.

 

Finally, I glance to Rory and say, “Guess what, guys? We get to work in the bakery tomorrow!”

 

Vick certainly doesn't look as excited as Posy. “Get to?”

 

“Yes, Vick,” Rory snaps. “ _Get to_ , just like we _get_ _to_ stay here together.”

 

“Sorry, Rory.” He glances at me. “Sorry, Katniss.”

 

I suggest we get some sleep and I feel grateful when I get into bed. Even if things go to hell, at least we have this one happy day together. That's something.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It seems like I've only been asleep for five minutes when I jerk awake at the sound of my name being whispered in the dark. I look over and see Peeta and in that instant, I'm sure he's here to hurt me, hopefully just me, and I pray that none of the kids wake up.

I shake with relief when he just says, “Can you get the kids up? You might as well let Posy sleep, I haven't figured out what she can do up there.”

I swallow hard and nod. He gives me a smile and disappears back up the stairs. I wait until my heart slows down before I wake up Rory and tell him to help with getting ready.

Then, I shower.

Showering alone feels like a luxury after the home, and showering in a bathroom with a lock on the door is even nicer. The water is hot and comes out hard and I feel myself relax maybe the slightest bit. I feel a little uneasy about working in the bakery today, but I already feel like Peeta will at least look out for the kids. I can look out for myself.

I dress quickly, in the nicest clothes I have, which are barely nice anymore. My mother was petite herself, but her old dress still hangs loosely on me. I'm small and skinny from those years after Dad died and Mom checked out, when food was whatever I could find, and even that went to Prim first. If it wasn't for my long, black hair, I'd probably be mistaken for a boy. My face might be pretty—if I smiled more. That's what people tell me, anyway.

We all try to dress nice, but it's clear that none of us has exactly been going on shopping sprees. Still, I steel myself and march up the stairs. I just hope they don't make me work at the counter. I have a feeling customer service won't be my strong point.

Peeta says good morning and introduces the man slumped over the kitchen island as his brother, Rye.

“Rye's in charge.”

“You're in charge,” Rye says quickly. He gives a vague wave in their direction, not looking up at all. Now, that's the kind of welcome I expected.

Rye is totally silent save for the occasional groan. If the smell coming off him is any indication, he's hungover, maybe even still drunk. It is 5:30. Peeta walks us through the kitchen and the different things we'll need to learn. It's almost seven by the time we finish and Peeta makes us all sit down and eat breakfast while he and Rye hurry through the morning work. There's bread, a little stale but still airy inside, apples, cheese, and tea. It's the fullest that I've gone to school in a year and I'm suddenly anxious to get to work, to make myself needed.

We troop off to school in the opposite direction of Peeta. His parents send him to a private school called Town Lake Academy. The rest of us are off to Seam High. This is one easy part: we've all been to this school at one time or another already, so no one is nervous this morning. I know at least one person who will be at least kind of happy to see me.

Luckily, I get the right lunch and find Madge at our old table. I stop for a second and say, “Can I sit with you?”

She nods and smiles, something she doesn't do often, and I have to smile back.

“Hey,” she says. “I'm glad you're back.” She doesn't ask where I've been or how I've come back. Our friendship is rooted in things not said. “You look good.”

I snort. She has perfectly blonde hair in pretty curls, pale skin with rosy cheeks. I, on the other hand... “Sure, Madge.”

She gives me a little smile and silently pushes half her sandwich towards me.

 

___

 

We all meet on the lawn of the school and walk home. I hope the day will stay this uneventful once we get back.

Peeta is already in the backyard feeding the pigs when we arrive. Posy runs over to help him. He quickly assigns Vick to pick apples from the tree in the corner of the yard, Posy to pick rosemary from the garden, Rory to chop wood. I, as I feared, am assigned to the front counter. Luckily, Rye is there, so I can call out orders instead of trying to figure out what and where the asiago bagels are.

Once it gets quiet, Rye leans against the counter and says, “So, do you like bread?”

It's a dumb question but I quickly nod. “Of course,” I whisper.

He frowns. “Huh? Speak up, would ya?”

“I said, of course.” I don't know what to say next, so I don't say anything.

Finally, he says, “You're a quiet kid, huh?”

I press my lips together and shrug. My heart is starting to pound as I glance around the empty room. I can't trust Rye. I wish Peeta was here but he's  
probably out chopping wood with Rory. He might not even hear me if I screamed, but I know I can't. He might not even believe me if I told him.

I'm shaking and Rye looks at me funny. He opens his mouth, but Peeta comes through the door before he can say anything. I jump about five feet to his side.

“Hey, Peeta, I'm not sure our new sis is gonna be so good up here. I can barely get two words out of her,” Rye says.

“Well, are you making her uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” I blurt out.

“Rye, mind your own business. This business.”

“Fine, sorry,” Rye says shortly.

Peeta pulls me into the back and says, “I'm sorry.”

“He's right. I'm not good with people. I should trade with Rory. I can chop wood.” He looks a little skeptical. “I'm stronger than I look,” I say defensively.

“Okay,” he shrugs after a moment.

Rory already has a stack by the time I get out. Posy has a basket of herbs, Vick has a basket of apples, and the two them are sitting by the flowers in the garden.

“Rory, switch me places.”

“Why?”

“Just go.”

I don't have much to do, so I sit by the flowers with Vick and Posy. But I quickly start to feel like I'm sneaking out of work, so I usher us all back inside. We work at mixing ingredients and Peeta shows Rory how to knead. Posy plays in the corner, frankly. It's almost seven when we get done and we're exhausted. I don't know how Peeta does it everyday and still seems so peppy. It's a little annoying.

He gives us sandwiches again, the ones we didn't sell today, and leaves us alone again. I'm happy for another night together. Everyone had a good day at school and we play Candyland again and go to sleep in our wool socks.

A few identical days pass before I get uncomfortable and finally ask if Peeta's ever going to eat with us. I ask with a scowl and he says, “Sorry, Katniss. I just didn't wanna assume.”

We go upstairs to the bakery and eat something besides sandwiches. There's another slightly stale loaf of bread with roasted potatoes and green beans and apple cider. I wonder how much of our food is covered by the money they get for us. I've never been able to find out the exact amount. I hope he's not spoiling us.

Peeta is somehow able to drag Rory into a conversation. Vick jumps in as soon as he can, of course, eager to get in on what he he thinks is grown-up talk. I'm content to sit by and watch. We linger in the kitchen longer than we probably should. I'm paranoid about all the other Mellarks. I don't want to run into any of them.

The kids wash the dishes and go downstairs. I'm getting ready to follow them when Peeta says, “Katniss, will you have a cup of tea with me?”

I freeze and slowly move into the seat across from him. I meet his eyes and I'm surprised again at how blue they are. They've seemed to flit away from me these past few days. He sets a mug in front of me and I'm surprised to find that its mint. He must have noticed what I picked out each morning. I mumble a thanks and focus on the stinging heat of the mug against my hands to stay calm. It's the first time we've ever been alone together.

“Do you think they're happy?” He looks anxious. “Or comfortable, at least?”

“They're fine.”

“What about you?”

“I'm fine.” I look down and pull my braid over my shoulder, running my fingers over the end.

“Do you always wear it like that?”

“It's practical.”

He nods. “How'd you get so good at chopping wood?”

“By chopping wood.”

He laughs. “Really? Are you a lumberjack on the side?”

“We had a fireplace growing up.”

“Wow, most people would probably just use fake wood. Never here, but most people.”

“We lived kind of out in--” I try to sum up my childhood home in one easy word. “The boonies.”

I cringe at the word, but the bunch of remote little cabins and cottages in the woods is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. It hurts to think that it's just thirty miles away. I've thought about running and trying to make the trip, over a twelve hour walk, the last of which would be through the mountains. I know them well, but it's still a risky hike. Besides, there's no reason to think they wouldn't find me. The man from CPS, Cray, seemed to have a personal grudge against me. I did break his nose when they came for me.

“Everyone either grew something or made something,” I say.

“Huh,” Peeta says. “The farthest I've gotten to the middle of nowhere is the farm. We make cheese and grow grain.”

I think of Prim and Lady, her goat. She was so excited the first time she made a good batch of cheese. “Is that where your father is?”

“Yeah.” He looks uncomfortable. “I'm sorry about Rye, by the way.”

Rye doesn't act like a twenty-one year old at all. He's taken to calling me 'little ghost' and sneaking tugs at my braid when I'm distracted. I've decided that he's pretty harmless—even if he tried something, he's slow and clumsy, and I don't think Peeta would let him throw me under the bus—but that doesn't mean I don't hate him.

“I guess he's a classic middle child,” Peeta says with a laugh.

I shrug. “I wouldn't know,” I mumble from behind my mug. I force myself to set it down and meet his eyes. “Didn't you read my file?”

His eyes go wide. “No, I would never. That's so invasive.”

I pause before I say, “That's a little naive. You should know what you're getting into.”

“If you wanna tell me, you can tell me,” he says firmly.

I look down and smooth my hands over my thighs. “I had a sister. And a mother. And a father. They're gone.”

“That sucks,” Peeta says. I'm surprised. I'm so used to the usual, pointless 'I'm sorry'.

I can't respond. I nod and press my lips together to keep them still. Most people would probably try to hug me, but he just bumps my foot under the table. I give him a weak smile and bump back. His smile is much stronger.

“I don't hear any screaming,” he says.

“Huh?”

“From downstairs.”

“Oh.” I get up quickly. “I should get down there.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Peeta,” I say softly.

I remember his answering smile all night.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

We make it a whole two weeks before we meet Mrs. Mellark.

It's been a nice few days. We eat dinner together every night and Peeta has just started hanging out in the basement with us. He helps us haul out an old air hockey table and Vick and Rory's heads almost explode. Everyone does their homework and eats breakfast and brushes their teeth and I can breathe. Not for long—there's still so much that's so wrong—but it's something.

I even find the backbone to smack Rye's hand away when he reaches for my hair. “You're not sneaky,” I scowl.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he laughs, holding his hands up. “Little ghost, coming through!” He laughs even harder when I punch his shoulder.

My next move should be getting in touch with Gale, but I'm almost hesitant to shake things up when they're so calm. Plus, I know Gale will be suspicious of Peeta and I won't be able to explain why I find myself trusting him. I'll have to say something about my feelings and Gale will ridicule me. His feelings are the only ones that are allowed to get in the way.

I have Rory call and try to find out where Gale is staying a few times, but I don't trust the people there all that much when they say they're working on it. I resolve that I'll take it up with Effie when she comes to see us. I try not to have guilty thoughts about where he might be.

It's right after school one day. Posy is in the yard picking herbs again and Rye is up front. The four of us in the kitchen are all busy and quiet and it looks like a perfect workplace. That's something, at least.

The door to the bakery swings open and a voice calls out, “Peeta! Get over here!” It's more of a screech and I can see his hands curl into fists before he turns around.

“Hey, Mom. What's up?” His voice is cautious and he doesn't move away from the counter.

Peeta's mother is a bit shorter than him, but she seems like a giant when she turns her cold gaze on him and frowns.

“What's going on in here?”

“Umm, cinnamon rolls, herb butter, and sifting.”

She turns away from him and peers at each of us in turn while we all pretend not to be there. “Why did they send so many?” she asks with a frown.

He shrugs. “The more hands, the better, right?”

He tenses when she comes closer, but all she does is look out the window. “What is that little beast doing in our garden?” she cries.

The steady sound of chopping in the kitchen falters for a moment.

“That's Posy,” he says. “She's the youngest.”

“Well, why the hell did they send her? What can she do?”

“She's picking the herbs.”

“She's playing outside!” She turned on Peeta. “And I bet it was your idea, wasn't it, you little idiot?”

The sound when she hits him rings through the kitchen.

I must still have a shred of innocence left, because I honestly expect them both to gasp in shock and for Mrs. Mellark to look remorseful, at least. He just presses a hand against his cheek with a wince. I realize then that this is the secret Johanna couldn't tell me. I can't say I blame her.

“And why is there no one at the counter?”

Peeta's voice has taken on a bit of an edge now. “Rye's supposed to be up there. You should probably ask him.”

She hits him again and a knife clatters to the counter some where behind me.

“Don't talk about your brother like that. He's the only reason this bakery is still making money. God knows you don't know anything about business. You,” she says, pointing at Vick in the back. “Go find him.” Vick must be relieved to get out of here because he scrambles out the door.

“You,” she said, pointing to Peeta, “Get out front.” She looks back at Rory and I. “And there's no good silver back here, so don't you two get any ideas.”

As soon as she's gone out the door, Rory hisses my name, but when I look at him, he's speechless. So am I. Slowly, we both go back to our work. I focus on mixing a pile of powdered sugar with a pool of buttermilk to make icing for the cinnamon rolls. I try to think of all the ingredients in the rolls. I try to think of anything but the red on Peeta's cheek and the way he dropped his eyes—I see myself there. I don't want to see any of it.

Rye and Vick finally rush in through the back door.

“What the hell took you so long?” Rory snaps.

“He was hiding from me!” Vick cries.

Rye is surrounded by glares and he actually looks remorseful. “Mom was back here?” he asks breathlessly. “He's out there?” He hurries out to the front.

Vick pounds his fist on the counter. “He was hiding!” he cries again. “I saw him in the alley and then he ran in to the yard and around the corner and I had to chase him!”

Rye bursts back in the door and shoves a basket of sandwiches at us. “You guys are done for the day,” he says, already trying to usher us to the stairs. We call Posy in and all but flee down the stairs.

We sit in a circle and stare at each other for a minute before Rory says, “That was fucked up.”

“Don't say fuck,” I say absently.

“Did something bad happen?” Posy asks.

“Nothing to worry about, Rosy Posy,” Rory says, kissing the top of her head.

Posy sighs. “I'm not a baby, you know.” Then she undermines herself by pouting and whining, “Where's Gale?” she asks. She looks to me, of course.

“I was gonna talk to Effie about it when she comes.”

“It's been two weeks,” Rory says. “Could take her awhile.”

“You're right. We can call tomorrow.”

We left the kitchen earlier than usual, so we spend a little time playing tag in the huge basement. Hide and seek is kind of pointless.

By unspoken agreement, we abandon two of the beds and snuggle up together in pairs. I take Vince, who has had to look after Posy so much. He should feel like a kid more often. He tosses and turns for a bit, but I sing a little lullaby and they all fall asleep. I'm not so lucky.

My mind is torn between remembering--or more like trying to forget—what I saw that afternoon, and the guilt I feel about not finding Gale. I've let myself get comfortable and forgotten that we aren't all together, and I wonder what Gale would have done if he had been here. We'd probably be packing our stuff up right now, but at least he'd be here, and I'd let him give me one of those huge hugs he likes, where he picks me up like a little doll.

Now I feel bad for missing Gale when I know that Peeta is somewhere a few halls away, doing who knows what. It's obvious that he's used to being hit—what else might he be used to? What things might he have to do to deal with it? Even the idea of him just laying alone in his room feeling sad makes me feel sick.

I try to listen to Vick's slow, easy breathing, and then the rain that falls outside, but I finally give up. It's stupid, but I suddenly have to get away. Vick is a heavy sleeper, so I'm able to sort of roll him away and sneak out of the bed. I already have wool socks on, so I wrap myself in a blanket and go upstairs and out the back door. I sit on the steps under the roof and breathe in the cool, misty air.

I jump when the door clicks behind me and I see Peeta freeze in the doorway.

“Oh, I didn't know...”

“Please, sit,” I say.

He sits next to me. “What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“How come?”

I look at him and slowly say, “Probably the same reason you couldn't.”

After a long moment of silence, he says, “Sorry you guys saw that.”

“Don't be.”

“Were they upset?”

“They're fine. Don't worry about it.” I can see the dark bruise that is spreading across his cheek. I press the back of my cold hand to it. He leans in with a soft sigh.

“Thanks,” he says. “That feels good.”

“What do you tell people?” I ask, dropping my arm.

“Wrestling.”

I'm not sure what to say, so I look at the bruise again. Then he turns and I'm looking into his eyes before I can help it. I can see them even in the gloom. Finally, I say, “I don't understand.”

“She hates me,” he says flatly. “There's not much to understand.” He hesitates and then continues, “She loves Rye, obviously. You should see him kissing her ass. It's disgusting.”

“Why did he run from Vick?”

“Did he?” Peeta laughs. “Probably because he hates getting in between me and Mom. Makes him feel like a bad brother when he just stands there while—that happens. But he's in good company. So does Dad and so does Bran. You forget something is fucked up once you see it enough times.”

I grimace. “You're telling me.”

“Sometimes I really wish I was adopted,” he said wistfully. “But I look just like them.”

I laugh and say, “Well, you're better-looking than Rye. He's very...umm....kind of....” I lower my voice. “Shifty-looking?”

He laughs out loud and says, “So I look trustworthy?”

“You look like an angel,” I blurt out. He blushes and I can feel a matching color spreading over my face. “I just meant you look—I don't know—cherubic.”

He groans. “You're not the first person to say so. Maybe the first one under sixty, though. Damn this pretty face.”

We both laugh and breathe almost identical sighs of relief at the break in the tension. We sit in silence and it's actually comfortable. I don't feel like I'm holding something in or struggling for something to say. I just sit and feel.

The light rain turns into a thunderstorm and we're driven inside.

“Well, goodnight, Katniss. Thanks for sitting.”

“Goodnight.”

I hesitate for a moment before I step forward. Thunder crashes as I put my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. I haven't hugged anyone outside my family in...maybe ever. I'm not sure what makes me do it. Maybe he just looks like he needs a hug. His arms come around me and they're as strong as I thought they would be. He smells sweet, like the cinnamon and vanilla we use everyday.

He pulls away first, a blush on both cheeks. He smiles, soft and small, not at all like the big straight smile he usually has.

I stand in the dark kitchen for a few minutes. I'm shivering, colder than I thought I was. But when I curl up in bed, I feel the lingering warmth of his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

 

 

It turned out that Vick and Posy were both having nightmares while I was out laughing it up with Peeta. Rory informs me with a dark look and then suddenly throws his arms around me. “Katniss, I miss Gale,” he whispers. “Can we call Effie _today_?”

 

Now I feel the flip side of my guilt from the night before. How could I be worrying about Peeta when anything could be happening to Gale?

 

“Yeah, we can call after school.” I give him a squeeze. “Did _you_ sleep okay?”

 

“Yeah, except Posy kicks.”

 

“Oh, I know,” I laugh.

 

At breakfast, it's like nothing ever happened, except that Rye is sober and suddenly very friendly. He makes a huge pile of bacon and mini cinnamon rolls. I'm afraid I'll be too stuffed to walk to school. But if Rye wants to redeem himself with food, that's a win/win.

 

At lunch that day, I find a bag full of food in my back pack. I wonder if it was Rye or Peeta that packed it.

 

I'm even quieter than usual—somehow—and I can tell Madge is curious as to why. I've been preoccupied with Gale all day. So I'm thrilled when Madge casually says, “Hey, I heard Gale's over at Wilson. Are you guys not living together right now?”

 

Wilson is the farthest school from the bakery, of course, almost in the next town over.

 

“You saw him there?” I ask quickly.

 

“No, my cousin Delly goes there. She has gym with him and she wouldn't stop talking about his shoulders,” Madge murmurs, a blush coming to her cheeks.

 

“Madge,” I breathe. “Thank you so much.”

 

I'm off school grounds before the lunch bell even rings. I'm probably pretty obvious when I scurry off-campus, but I don't even care. The fastest bus route to Wilson is an hour and I drive myself half-crazy in the meantime. It's not even the end of school when I arrive, so I circle the campus at least three times looking for him. Finally, I happen to see him on the football field, probably in the same gym class that's suddenly brought us back together. I run up to him, yelling his name and ignoring the stares of everyone around me. He spins around and I pretty much throw myself into his arms, despite the catcalls and whistles.

 

“Catnip,” he whispers into my hair. He pulls back and looks at me. “You look so—good.”

 

“We're working in a bakery now,” I say with a shaky laugh. "Plenty of food."

 

“You found the kids?”

 

“I found them,” I whisper.

 

The fastest bus route back to the bakery is still over an hour, so I have plenty of time to catch Gale up, although I know the kids are gonna be all over him when they see him anyway. It makes me feel all warm inside to tell him that Rory is thinking of trying out for a _team_ , like we might actually _stay_ somewhere. Vick has a friend and Posy has a painting up on the art wall in the school.

 

Gale tells me I'm glowing and my face gets hot.

 

“You really do look beautiful, Catnip,” he says softly. I really hope he isn't about to kiss me on the bus.

 

I'm a little surprised he didn't try when he saw me. I had kind of prepared myself for it. I know he thinks we should be together, probably because I'm so familiar. I remind him of home. Sometimes I wonder if he's right. I have to face the facts—I need Gale in a very real way. It's not very romantic, but life doesn't leave room for romance, and it's not as if I've been burning up with love for anyone else. I don't even know if I could love someone, not truly.

 

It's not like it's so utilitarian. I do love Gale, _almost_ more than anyone in the world, and I could make him very happy, god knows why. We're practically family already. Kissing cousins.

 

“How have you been?” he asks, taking my hand.

 

“Okay. The bakery has taken some getting used to.”

 

“Do they treat you well?” he asks gruffly, and I can see the kind of fierceness that has caused him so many problems. I'm frankly grateful I've never seen him with a black eye or a broken rib. I feel like a coward sometimes when I refuse to think about all the things that could have happened to all of them, when I just want to watch them smile and laugh and pretend they've never been sad.

 

“Yeah, it's not bad. There's three brothers, but only the youngest two work there. The older brother is a pain, but the youngest is--” What neutral word can I use here? “Um, really nice.”

 

But it seems practically traitorous to leave Peeta as 'the youngest' who's 'really nice'.

 

“His name is Peeta. He's really helped us settle in. The kids really like him. He's teaching Vick and Rory how to wrestle.”

 

Gale looks miffed and I realize that's exactly the kind of thing he's missed out on. Even before we were dragged away from home, he didn't have a lot of time for playing around. I know he feels guilty now, but I hope seeing the kids helps. Posy's still sweet. Rory's not so hard around the edges and Vick's not so brittle. They're tough, but they might never have to be as tough as us someday.

 

“I'm sure they'll be happy to show off for you,” I add.

 

“You sound pretty cozy. Are you sure you can trust him?”

 

“Definitely. _Him_. The rest of the family's not perfect. His mom is—terrible. The dad's never there, probably to get away from her. It's a little weird sometimes.”

 

“Well, we should be careful.”

 

“You think I don't know to be careful?”

 

“Oh, Catnip—did anything happen--”

 

“It's not important,” I say quickly, because I know I won't be able to lie if he gets the whole question out.

 

“Don't ever say that, Catnip,” he says seriously.

 

“Gale,” I say, my voice coming out harsher than I intended, “Please.”

 

He gives a frustrated sigh and says, “Okay.” I can sense the 'for now' trailing behind it.

 

“What about you?”

 

He can't really get out of answering. Eventually, he says, “It was okay.”

 

He puts an arm around me and we sit in a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride. I daydream about how excited the kids will be and it's only when we're almost there that I start to worry. What are the chances Mrs. Mellark will be there? Peeta probably isn't back yet, so Rye will be there.

 

I lead Gale around the back and tell him to hang on a minute. Rye is icing cookies for the after school rush that will begin any minute.

 

He looks up and quietly says, “Hey, little ghost.”

 

I'm not sure what to say so I finally blurt out, “Can you keep a secret?”

 

Rye snorts. “Can _I_   keep a secret?”

 

“Gale's here. My—cousin.”

 

I expect him to be a pain about it but he just says, “Gotcha. I'll holler if I need you.”

 

I figure that will be in about fifteen minutes, so I quickly usher Gale in and down the stairs. The kids are halfway to nuts when there's a frenzied knock against the door. I run to get it, remembering my earlier fears. I sigh in relief as I ease the door open—it's Peeta.

 

“It's getting packed up there, what are you guys doing?”

 

I don't have time to come up with a lie before Vick yells, “Peeta! Gale's here!” He throws open the door and Peeta blinks in surprise when he sees Gale standing there. Gale doesn't help, getting into his looming stance and crossing his arms over his chest. I really wish he wasn't choosing this moment to get his male pride hackles up.

 

“Rye didn't tell you?”

 

“No, was he supposed to?”

 

“Damn,” I muse aloud. “He really can keep a secret.” For better or for worse.

 

Peeta strides up and shakes Gale's hand. They both grimace and I wonder how hard they're squeezing.

 

“I'm Peeta.”

 

“Gale.”

 

“Well,” Peeta says with forced cheer. “I'll leave you guys alone. I'm sure Rye needs help.”

 

A voice from the top of the stairs yells, “I said I'd holler!”

 

So of course Vick and Rory start listing every wrestling move they insist that they know and can totally do—although neither asks Gale if he wants to go a round.

 

Rory _does_ , however, challenge Peeta, saying, “I practiced that two-in-one and I bet I can definitely do it.”

 

Peeta raises his eyebrows. “On who, Katniss?”

 

“No,” Rory says indignantly. “On you, obviously.”

 

“I don't know, I've got about sixty pounds on you,” Peeta laughs.

 

“That's not really his fault, is it?” Gale says coolly.

 

There's an agonizing pause before Peeta starts to apologize, but he's cut off by Vick suddenly jumping on Gale's back and trying to get him in a headlock. _Then_ there's the impromptu wrestling match, although, lessons or no, there's no way Vick is winning.

 

We move on to Posy's latest drawings and I forget all about the bakery until I hear a noise from upstairs that's worse than a scream—Mrs. Mellark. Of course, she's more or less screaming, it's the only volume she seems to know. That, and whispering under her breath.

 

“What the _hell_ is going on?”

 

She's coming closer and everyone in the room is frozen in panic except for Gale.

 

“Well, what is the point of having these damn kids if they're not even going to _work..._ I don't care about that!”

 

Then I hear Rye's voice. “Mom, I checked with Effie already and you have to let them see each other or we could get sued or something.”

 

“Ugh! And where is your idiot brother?” Peeta flinches next to me.

 

“Making sure they don't badmouth us.”

 

“Mm. Good thinking.”

 

Peeta goes up the stairs without looking at any of us and I shoot Gale a dark look before I hurry up after him.

 

“She's gone,” Rye assures us when we hit the top of the stairs. “Sorry.”

 

Gale and the kids follow us up after only a few minutes.

 

“I'll come back Friday,” he says. He sweeps me into his arms and kisses my mouth before I can say anything. "We'll talk." He rushes out the door.

 

My face is burning as we all quickly take up our work. It's finally cooling down when Mrs. Mellark storms back in. She only comes to drag Peeta up front with her. He doesn't come back for awhile, and when he does, he shoves past Rye and out the back door, muttering about chopping firewood.

 

We all eat crusty bread for dinner down in the basement when it becomes clear that Peeta isn't coming to the table. 

 

It's a very quiet night.

 

\---

 

I'm awakened by a nightmare. I had been hidden and safe and happy curled up in a crawlspace when I saw Peeta and his mother enter the room. It had gotten worse from there. I know that I won't be getting back to sleep.

 

I go upstairs and I'm going to just slip out the back door when I notice a light up front. I creep a little closer and see Peeta sitting at the counter in the front of the bakery, bent over a piece of paper. I make my way behind him and I can't stop a gasp when I see what he's doing. He's drawing, amazingly well, but he's drawing— _me_.

 

Or at least, some version of me. He has made my eyes sparkle and my mouth tilt in a smile in a delicate, pretty face. For the first time in my life, I'm sad to be plain.

 

“I don't look like that,” I say.

 

Peeta almost falls out of his chair. He puts a hand over his heart and says, “Jesus, Katniss, I didn't even hear you.”

 

“Sorry. I saw the light on.”

 

“Couldn't sleep?”

 

I shake my head and point to the paper again. “Why would you draw _me_?”

 

“Because you're gorgeous,” he says matter-of-factly. Then he blanches and says, “Shit, sorry, I shouldn't say that.”

 

“Yeah, Peeta,” I snort. “You shouldn't tell lies.”

 

“It's not a lie,” he says, looking almost offended. “It's just—not something I should say.”

 

I reach past him to another paper. “...Is this the back of my head?”

 

“Yes. It's what I spend a lot of time staring at.” My face gets red until I remember that he's usually at the counter behind me, where the kneading happens.

 

I can't say for sure what the back of my head looks like, but it seems like a perfect likeness. There is something in the set of my slim shoulders and the turn of my head that rings true somehow. And my braid gives me away of course. It's more detailed than I expected.

 

“How long have you been up?” I ask in wonder.

 

“It's--” His eyes move away nervously. “Not the first time I've drawn you.”

 

“Oh.” I set the paper down and it's only then that I see the sketchbook that is drawn in close to him, probably to keep it from my prying fingers.

 

I look into his eyes and realize he's not saying these things to trick me or to be mean. He is kind, and he thinks I'm beautiful. He could use an eye exam—but he's kind. That sense of safety must be what fuels my sudden question.

 

“Do you do requests?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I don't have a lot of pictures. My house—there were woods we used to play in. I cut the trees for wood there. I learned to swim there.” My voice gets thready. “My father taught me to hunt there.”

 

“Hunt?”

 

“Yeah, his favorite meal was squirrel stew.” I think about a time only a few weeks ago when I would have been too embarrassed to say that, but more than anything, I wish Peeta could try it—maybe with the cheese buns from the bakery.

 

“Anyway,” I say. “It would be nice to have something. Could you draw it if I described it?”

 

He picks up his pencil and says, “Shoot.”

 

I don't know how long I talk. I keep remembering details that feel vitally important: the wavery outline of the katniss plants through the lake water, the way the spruce and fir trees rose out of the soft, dark soil on a wet morning. I can't bring myself to mention the primroses that grew along the side of our house.

 

By the time we're done, I have not one but _two_ pictures, one of the lake and one of the woods from my bedroom window, the view I saw every morning for fifteen years.

 

Peeta takes my hand says, “Thank you.”

 

I laugh and only then do I realize my face is sticky with drying tears. I duck my head and wipe at my cheeks, mumbling, “Shouldn't _I_ thank _you_?”

 

He smiles. “You can sit for me if you want.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You can pose for me.”

 

I can't hold back a bark of laughter. “Fat chance.”

 

He laughs along with me, saying, “I kind of figured.”

 

“You should draw my friend Madge. She's very pretty.”

 

“Katniss--”

 

“But you can keep drawing me if you really want,” I say, my heart racing. I'm not used to my heart racing for something that's not life-threatening.

 

_“Then you’ll allow it?”  
_

 

_“I’ll allow it.”_

 

_And then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me._

 

And I am suddenly running for the door.

 

Literally. I quickly say goodnight and I know Peeta must be staring after me while I hurry through the kitchen and down the stairs.

 

\---

 

I make the mistake of leaving the drawings out on the table and the kids won't stop asking me about them. It doesn't take them long to figure out that Peeta must have done them.

 

“He makes beautiful flowers,” Posy observes sagely.

 

I expect Peeta to be annoyed, especially when he starts getting bombarded with requests, all less sentimental than mine. Vick wants a dragon, Rory wants a race car, and Posy wants a pony. Seems like a waste when they can look all those things up on the computers at school. Instead, he seems happy, and he gives me the same shy smile from the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are direct quotes from the book, which I did not write.
> 
> Details about the woods are based on canon and the general consensus that D12 is in the Appalachians.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life is good.

 

Not just livable. _Good_. I quickly deny it every time I feel it, but it's true.

 

We sneak Gale in every Friday for a little bit. He finds a job—a shitty, under-the-table kitchen job, but a job nonetheless. Holding my hands, he passionately vows that he's saving for our future. I should probably worry about the look in his eyes when he says this, but the idea sounds so good that I rarely want to ruin the moment.

 

Rory makes the baseball team. Posy becomes the art teacher's special helper and begs Peeta for drawing lessons, even getting up a half hour early to have time. Vick has _two_ friends.

 

As the weather warms up, Mrs. Mellark starts taking last-minute trips over the weekends. Saturday and Sunday are still the busiest days, but we manage to have a lot more fun on these weekends.

 

I sleep a lot better on those weekends, too. The kids know to make themselves scarce when Mrs. Mellark shows up, but I always find myself reluctant to leave Peeta alone with her. Rye must feel the same way because he always manages to come in before things get too bad, usually by reminding her that Peeta can't work the counter with a black eye. The first time I hear this, I quietly excuse myself to the bathroom and throw up.

 

I remember enough about the healing balms my mother used to whip up in our kitchen to be able to make a fair batch for the bruises I sometimes see creeping out from underneath his clothes. One day, I see one rising over the collar of his t-shirt and inching up the back of his neck towards his golden hair. I can't stop myself from running my fingers over it and a shiver runs through his whole body. That's when I decide to make the balm. I'm not sure how to bring it up, because we never, ever bring it up, so I just hand it over silently. A few days later, in the heat of the bakery, I catch the spicy scent of crushed goldenrod. I breathe in deeply without thinking, caught in memories, and Rye laughs at me.

 

“You haven't gotten sick of the bread smell yet?”

 

I think Peeta understands because he later whispers a thank you and presses a piece of paper into my hand. When I unfold it later, I find a sketch of a katniss flower.

 

Now that I know to look for it, I catch Peeta drawing me often, and sometimes just watching me like he's planning his next sketch. One day, I shock both of us by saying I'll pose for him.

 

“I'll remember that, but I'm gonna wait for the perfect setting.”

 

“Where's that?”

 

“Somewhere you're happy.”

 

“Next to the garden?”

 

“No, somewhere special. You see the garden every day. Don't worry,” he smiles. “I'll surprise you.”

 

Gale isn't very happy when he finds out about the sketches, and he's only seen the ones Peeta has done for the kids, their ponys and dragons and race cars. I can only imagine how annoyed he'd be if he saw the ones of me. They're completely innocent, but I know I turn red every time I think about them.

 

One Monday afternoon, Rye gather us around a tray of red velvet cupcakes and tells us that their father is coming to take inventory that weekend, so the bakery will be closed. That's exciting enough, but then he goes on to say that if we can finish half the inventory before Saturday, we all get the weekend off. Needless to say, everyone jumps into the painfully tedious task of counting up just about every single thing in the bakery.

 

Gale lays claim to Friday night, when we're closing at five instead of eight. I start to follow them out the door when they go to leave, off to the movies, but Rory stops me, saying, “Aren't you going to the lake?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Rory looks to Peeta and says, “You didn't ask her?”

 

“Not just yet, Rory, thanks,” Peeta groans.

 

“Ask her what?” Gale demands.

 

“They're going on a picnic at the park,” Rory says confidently. He gives his siblings a push towards the door. “Don't forget bugspray!”

 

Gale gives me a very pointed look and says, “Be careful.”

 

When they're gone, I turn to Peeta and say, “We're going on a picnic at the park?”

 

“I'm sorry,” Peeta said quickly, his face turning pinker by the moment. “Vick said you would like it. There's probably still time if you want to catch up with them, I should never have assumed--”

 

“Since when do you take advice from Vick?”

 

Peeta shrugs. “He said you needed to get out and be young.”

 

I snort. I'm gonna kill Vick “Where's the park?”

 

It's a quick bus ride away, thankfully, a little park in a trendy neighborhood that I've never been to. It's only a few blocks from Peeta's school. He says he goes there to draw on the rare occasion that he has a day off from the bakery.

 

“I know it's nothing compared to your lake,” he says, waving to the small, man-made pond.

 

“Anything green is paradise for me right now, Peeta. Thank you.”

 

He's beaming as he leads me to a shaded spot. I blush when I realize that this is the first time we've ever really been alone together—and I don't really know what the sketches and everything mean, even if they make me look beautiful and brave.

 

The spot is well-chosen, a bit secluded from the Friday afternoon crowd. We've bought as many non-bread items as we could find, and Peeta had made me swear that we wouldn't somehow end up eating cookies. I had told him that if someone offered me a free cookie, my choice was already made.

 

“A free cookie is a free cookie, even after a thousand cookies.”

 

“I'd rather have a free apple at this point. Gotta keep the dough off, if you will,” he says, snickering.

 

“Please, with all that heavy lifting, I think you'll be okay. You toss those bags of flours around like pillows. I'm afraid Rory's gonna throw his back out trying to copy you,” I laugh.

 

“Well, you chop a mean pile of firewood.” He smiles. “Do you remember that first day in the bakery when you said you wanted to chop the wood and you did your glaring thing and said 'I'm stronger than I look!'”

 

“My _glaring thing_?”

 

“You're doing it right now,” he crows. “Don't worry, I'll draw you a picture.”

 

I throw a cherry tomato at him, my face burning. “You're gonna get a lot more than a glare in a second.”

 

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do, tickle me? You can't exactly match Mom's left hook.” He's laughing when he says this, but cringing at the same time.

 

I press my lips together and whisper, “I hope you don't believe the things she says.”

 

“I used to,” he admits. “Deeply. But not so much now.”

 

“Peeta,” I say, taking his hand. “I think you're maybe the best person I've ever known.”

 

“That's funny. I would probably say the same about you.”

 

“I guess you still haven't read my file,” I mumble.

 

“Hmm?”

 

But I can't bear to tell him, not now. I don't want to be that girl right now, the girl with the dead family. And I definitely don't want to be the girl who as good as killed them.

 

He squeezes my hand as I look away to hide the tears that are building in my eyes. I wipe at them roughly and lay down on the blanket we spread out. I feel exhausted all of a sudden.

 

“Nap time?” He smiles. “Can I draw you while you sleep?”

 

I groan. “I guess that's your best chance.”

 

I settle back and fall into a sweet sleep, blocking out the sounds of the people in the park and listening to the birds in the trees, the breeze rattling the branches, the smell of dogwood and the quacking of the ducks.

 

When I wake up, I'm curled up on my side with my back to Peeta. I turn over and see that he's drawing that, too.

 

“How long have I been asleep?”

 

“Just a half hour. Sleep well?”

 

“Yeah. Did you get your portrait?”

 

“Yes,” he smiles.

 

He hands me the paper and it's the most stunning one yet. I remember his promise to draw me somewhere that I was happy, somewhere special.

 

“Do you like it?” he asks anxiously, after I haven't said anything for a few moments.

 

“It's amazing, Peeta. Thank you.”

 

I sit up and set the paper down. We're close, close enough that I can see the sun dancing on his eyelashes and glinting in his honeyed curls. My heart is racing as I lean forward, already wondering if I'm going to regret this.

 

But once our lips press together, I know that I won't. I couldn't. It's not really my first kiss—Gale has kissed me once or twice back home, and I kissed him back—but it feels like it is, and I find myself wishing it was. Peeta's lips are coaxing instead of demanding and the hand he puts on my waist strokes but never grabs. His other hand holds my face, his fingers tracing over my cheek and down the side of my neck until I'm shivering.

 

We finally break apart, both of us gasping for air. “We better stop before we get kicked out of the park,” he laughs. “Let's get back. Maybe we'll be lucky and no one will be there.”

 

Blushing, I get to my feet and help him clean up from our picnic, trying to keep a smile off my face. I don't know why—Peeta's is certainly big enough. His lips are a little darker than usual, and wet, and then he bites his lip and we have to stop packing up for a few minutes.

 

The ride back to the bakery seems to take forever as we glance at each other and then look away over and over again, until I feel a flush of heat every time our gazes meet and hold.

 

Luck is on our side—the bakery is empty when we get there. Neither us is quite sure where to go, so we end up on the back porch with our knees pressed together. It keeps us too far apart, but I'm too shy to say we should lay down somewhere. I moan when his hand traces down my collarbone and slips under the shoulder of my sweater. I try to move closer and we end up in an awkward twist, but it's worth it when he closes his arms around me.

 

But my back can only take so much—I work in a bakery, you know. I pull away, pushing my hair away from my face. My braid is falling apart. I turn to him and say, “What now?”

 

He licks his lips and pulls me into his lap. It's only once I'm there and pressed against him with our mouths slanting together deeper than ever that I realize—we're sitting outside. There _are_ neighbors, but I can't stop to think about that. I have a— _need_ , something that's driving me out of my mind and growing stronger with every long, hot kiss.  _I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind_.

 

I don't know how long we sit there. Long enough for Peeta's hand to make it's way from my shoulder down to my hip and then up my side to just under my breast, his hand burning there as I wait anxiously for it to move about five inches up and five to the right.

 

But the same amount of time is enough for me to move my own hand down to his hip. I hesitate there for a minute, grasping his thigh, which doesn't help me focus at all. It's not until he pulls away from my mouth and starts to kiss my neck that I have the guts to slide my hand between his legs and press it against him. He's wearing jeans but I can still feel how hard he is. I can't stop a gasp of surprise when he moves in my hand. I squeeze and he bites down on my neck. A deep shudder rolls through my body as he finally moves his hand to my breast and squeezes.

 

And that's how Gale finds us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind."  
> -Catching Fire


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

 

 

 

I jump out of Peeta's lap when I hear the harsh sound of Gale's gasp. I quickly smooth my shirt and my hair, and not a moment too soon. The kids follow him around the corner just a few seconds later. They don't even notice their brother's dazed look, which is quickly turning into anger.

 

They bound up the back stairs, all holding ice cream cones.

 

“Gale had to see a girl movie!” Vick announces.

 

“Well, I wasn't going to see some movie where they blow up helicopters the whole time,” Posy grumbles.

 

“The helicopters all crashed,” Rory admitted. He stopped and looked at me. “Are you okay, Katniss? You look all red and stuff.”

 

“I just woke up from a nap,” I say quickly. “You're dripping,” I say, pointing to the marble swirl that is trickling onto his fingers.

 

That gets them all into the kitchen and I wish I could throw myself in after them. Gale strides up to Peeta and growls, “I should fucking throttle you.”

 

“Gale,” I hiss. “It's not his fault.”

 

“Katniss, you don't see what's going on. You're too—pure.”

 

“Gale, I'm not a—ugh! This is between you and me, come here.” I lead him around the corner. He keeps his eyes locked on Peeta till the very last second. We're barely out of earshot when starts to speak. Well, more like scold.

 

“Katniss, what are you _thinking_? Who kisses their foster sister like that? You can't trust him! Are you crazy? Katniss, how could you do this?”

 

I wipe one shaking hand across my mouth, trying to think of something to say. “It's not like that, Gale. I swear.”

 

“Katniss, how could you do this to _me_?”

 

My eyes well up with tears. They're equal parts guilt and frustration. “It's not like that,” I repeat weakly.

 

He shakes his head. “You're so naive, Catnip,” he says wearily. He moves past me. “I'm saying goodnight and going home. We'll talk about this later.”

 

“I'm not a child, you know,” I snap. “You don't think I'm a good judge of character?”

 

“I think you've never been kissed and he knows that.”

 

“That's not true. I kissed you.”

 

“Not like _that_ ,” he spits.

 

He disappears around the corner before I can say anything else. If I felt tired this afternoon in the park, I feel twice as exhausted now. But I already know there's no way I'll be able to sleep tonight. Maybe Peeta and I will meet at the back steps again. We always seemed to be sleepless on the same nights. Then again, the bakery is empty. I could just as easily sneak past the front counter and around the corner to Peeta's room.

 

But I suddenly feel the bonds of fear that had melted away for a little awhile at the heat of his touch. Gale can't be right. He can't be. I'm no idiot and no one is that good of an actor. But what if things went south? What would happen? It would still be two years before I turned eighteen, what if something happened and I ended up alone somewhere?

 

I realize I'm holding my breath and take in a gulp of air. I put my hand over my heart and squeeze my eyes shut. I hear Gale coming up the basement stairs and I follow my first instinct—to hide. I rush across the lawn to the apple tree and huddle behind it while he comes out. He looks around for me, curses, and stalks down the alleyway. I let out a shaky sigh of relief and slump against the trunk of the tree. I stay there for a few minutes, breathing hard but not quite crying.

 

I finally get up and go back inside. The door to the basement is open, but I see a light at the front of the bakery. I follow it and find Peeta sitting at the counter. Hesitantly, he asks, “Is everything okay?”

 

I press my lips together. “Yeah, it's okay.” I go around the counter and stand in front of him. I put my hands on his shoulders and force myself to say, “You know I'm a virgin, right?”

 

“Oh—um, Katniss, you don't really have to tell me that,” he says hastily.

 

“Why? Is it obvious?” I demand.

 

“No, I mean—you don't have to share that with me.”

 

“So you don't care that I'm so...pure?”

 

“Um. I guess some people would say you're pure...but for me, you're perfect.”

 

I start to push myself into his arms again, but I suddenly hear Vick pounding up the stairs. “Peeta,” he yells from the top of the stairs. “Come play table hockey!”

 

Peeta curses under his breath. He pulls me close and holds me for a moment before he goes down to the basement. We all hang out and although Peeta doesn't act any different, something has changed. _I_ have changed. I'm eventually able to stop staring and grinning like an idiot...by doing my homework. Algebra doesn't leave me any brain room to think about kissing. When he leaves, I can barely look him in the eye long enough to say goodnight.

 

“So how was your picnic?” Posy asks me as we're getting ready for bed.

 

“It was great. There was a pond and everything. We can go sometime soon. I didn't know if you guys miss the woods like I do.”

 

“I miss squirrel stew,” Vick sighs. “All the stuff you could do to a pizza at that place and I was still thinking about it.”

 

“Roast squirrel,” Rory chimes in.

 

“Mama's buttermilk biscuits,” Posy adds. “I bet Peeta could make them.”

 

We had all gotten up at 6 AM like usual that day, so we're ready to drop before midnight. Contrary to what I expected, I fall asleep fast and sleep all night, until the luxurious hour of seven AM, when we all start to wake up out of habit, whether we want to or not. We've just shuffled up the stairs and into the kitchen with a goal of pancakes when Rye comes in the door.

 

“Hey,” he says. “I'm glad you're all up. I have a surprise.”

 

“What is it?” Rory asks, skeptical.

 

“Since dad is coming up, he wants me to go to the farm. Posy, you can ride the neighbor's pony. Vick, you can learn to shoot. Rory, man—four wheelers.” Over the sounds of ecstatic screaming, I hear him say, “Sorry, Katniss.” He smirks. “Guess you're stuck here. Okay, okay,” he says, waving them towards the basement. “Get dressed. We can get hash browns on the way.”

 

“You're spoiling them,” I comment once they're down the stairs.

 

Rye shrugs stiffly. “Shouldn't I?” Peeta comes in while they're getting their jackets on. “Hey. We're going up to the farm.”

 

Peeta runs a hand through his hair, which is still messy from sleep. I've never seen him in his sleep clothes. His thin t-shirt makes me blush, which is silly. His pajama pants look much softer than jeans.

 

Peeta yawns and says, “Don't let Vick shoot anyone.”

 

“You know my aim is spot-on, bro. I'll teach him everything I know.”

 

“About _shooting_ ,” I stress.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pauses and then says, “Peeta, Dad will probably be here in about an hour if you wanna...” He glances at me.

 

“Avoid him?” Peeta supplies. “Yeah, I do. Drop us at the park or something, would you? I mean, if you want, Katniss. I guess maybe you wanna be alone?” he says uncertainly. Maybe he mistook my sudden inability to look him in the eye last night for shame. Or regret.

 

“Of course,” I say quickly. “Let me get dressed.”

 

“Whatever,” Rye huffs. “Just hurry up!”

 

Rye drops us off at a different park, one that's quite a bit bigger. It doesn't have a pond, but it has something better—hiking trails.

 

I ask where we're going after a few minutes on the trail that's leading us up into the woods.

 

“What do you care? Aren't you in _paradise_?” Peeta teases.

 

“My standards have gone up since yesterday.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” he grins.

 

Keeping my eyes on the ground, I murmur, “Yeah. Someone raised the bar.”

 

“Oh, no,” he says, taking my hand. “What can I do to move up?”

 

“Mmm...you can tell me where we're going.”

 

“Ah, darling, the one desire I can't meet. Just wait and see.”

 

I decide that I don't care where we're going as long as we're out here. We walk in silence and I don't think of very much except the beauty of the woods and the mild breeze. But I see why we've come this far when the trail opens up to a meadow.

 

“Oh, Peeta,” I breathe.

 

“Again, not as good as your meadow, but--”

 

“Peeta,” I say, turning around. “Shut up.” He only has one second to look horrified before I kiss him. I can't get close enough to him, I practically jump into his arms. Luckily, they're _very_ strong. I pull back after a few long kisses and glance around. I haven't seen anyone in a long time and it's a Saturday afternoon.

 

“They say these trails are haunted,” Peeta says. “That's why they're always pretty empty. There's some tall grass over there by the corner.”

 

“Haunted by who?” I ask, following him across the meadow.

 

“Coal miners. There was a mine on the other side of this mountain. It collapsed and they say the ghosts of the miners wander the mountain now. You smell burning coal, blah blah blah.”

 

“Oh.” I sit down on the blanket he lays out. “My whole family were coal miners a few generations ago. Then that stopped and trucking became the big thing. My dad hated it. He hated being away all the time. But he died before the year was out anyway.” I tear up a handful of grass.

 

Peeta rubs a hand across my shoulders and doesn't try to say anything. These moments when we don't speak are as precious as the moments we laugh together. Maybe even more.

 

I tilt my head back as Peeta's hand moves up to the back of my neck. “What's for lunch?'

 

He grimaces. “Bread.”

 

“Don't be picky,” I say dismissively. “You're eating.” I look around the meadow. “If my bow wasn't in lock-up somewhere, I'd shoot us a few squirrels. These are easy pickings.”

 

What we have is a dense fruit and nut bread with blackberry preserves. Peeta has also brought along some fresh strawberries. He takes one out and holds it up to me. He smiles with rather convincing innocence and says, “First bite?”

 

 _Ha! I'm so pure!_ I think, leaning forward and wrapping my lips around the strawberry. I take a bite and sit back, licking the juices away.

 

“Mmm....” I'm starting to shake with laughter and I can barely get out my next words, or word. “Delicious!” I mumble, and hide my face in my hands. I can hear Peeta laughing at me. I want to be mad at him, but I still want to kiss him more.

 

He shoves the strawberries aside and lays down on the blanket. He puts a hand over mine and gives me a questioning look, suddenly shy. I lay down next to him and realize that the tall grasses nearby happen to shield us from the trail.

 

“Did you pick this spot for a reason?” I ask pointedly.

 

“Yeah,” he admits with a grin. “I packed two blankets for a reason, too.”

 

We kiss relatively chastely—relatively—for a bit, steadily moving closer until we're pressed together on our sides. Which is nice, but I'm extremely thankful when we roll and I feel weight of him against me for the first time. In fact, I'm so thankful that I let out a loud moan and Peeta rocks against me. I bite my lip this time, but it's a struggle to stay quiet while I writhe underneath him, especially when our legs tangle together and his hips come flush against mine. I get so frustrated with the stupid jeans that come between us that I pound both my fist and my head on the blanket beneath us.

 

Peeta pulls back, breathing hard.

 

“What are you doing?” I gasp. I'm almost crying with frustration.

 

“Katniss, have you—have you ever _had_ an orgasm?”

 

“Umm...I don't think so.”

 

He bites his lip and says, “Okay.”

 

“Are you disappointed?” I blurt out.

 

He looks startled. “I'm—grateful.”

 

A warmth of a different kind spreads through me at his words. He kisses me softly and touches the button of my jeans. “May I?”

 

I nod quickly. “And hurry,” I mumble.

 

He smothers his laugh against my neck as he undoes them and slides one hand inside. His other hand comes up to turn my head so he can kiss my neck. I move my hips and feel the heat of his palm against me. I have to slap a hand over my own mouth to keep from crying out. Peeta pries it away and kisses my palm before he kisses my lips. But all my lips can do is fall open and tremble when he moves his hand inside my underwear. It's like an explosion of heat and his fingers barely touch my flesh before I find myself shaking and shuddering so hard that Peeta has to hold my hips down. He doesn't stop touching me and the staggering waves of sensation seem to last forever.

 

Finally, when I've recovered, I open my eyes and see Peeta struggling to keep a smirk off his face. “So, did I raise the bar?”

 

I kiss him and say, “Don't be smug. It's not a good look on you.”

 

“Bet you're lying,” he grins.

 

I try to glare. I really do.


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

After we pack up the food, we sit on the blanket, quietly taking in the sun. He has to draw me, of course. It takes him a while because he keeps stopping to lean over and kiss me. He won't show me this one because he wants to color it. “Not sure how I'll get the eyes right.”

 

Eventually, I ask, “So, why don't you want to see your father?” I try to ask gently, but it's not a gentle question.

 

“He's a coward,” Peeta mumbles. “We used to be close but...the worse things got with mom, the more he pulled back, and then he started going to the farm all the time and leaving me alone with her...I can't really forgive him for just looking the other way like that.”

 

I can't imagine having two parents, both _alive_ and both terrible. “I don't blame you. But what are we gonna do all day?”

 

“Well, Rye slipped me some cash for food. We could go down to the fountain and then have lunch. What haven't you had?”

 

“Oh, boy.”

 

“Oh, come on, you've never bitten the head off a squid before?”

 

“Ew!”

 

“Okay, so sushi's out.”

 

We end up getting stir fry. I've had a Hamburger Helper version but it doesn't compare to this. And there's so much of it. Sometimes, I still can't believe all this food is available. I find myself measuring the bare minimum that I can eat to make everything last. But I'm way too distracted for that today. Half my brain is reveling in my lunch and the other half is still barely coherent.

 

I could barely look at him the night before, but now I can't stop staring. Eventually, he mumbles, “Stop looking at me like that. There's no cold showers in here.”

 

Next, we go to a bookstore and get hot chocolate at the cafe. “No pastries,” we say in unison. We pass most of the afternoon there. I haven't had time to read anything for fun in a long time so I start with a book I know I like and take an erratic path through the store from there. Peeta is browsing through art books every time I pass him. He has the same kind of focus that he has when he kneads, squeezing and rolling the dough.

 

We head for our bus stop at around dinnertime. Peeta thinks his dad will be asleep by the time we get back and go somewhere for dinner. As we rumble closer to the bakery, I sigh and ask, “What about your other brother?”

 

“He doesn't give a damn about any of us. None of them do. I don't know how you end up with a family where no one loves each other, but this is it.”

 

I take his hand and move closer. “They're not your only family,” I say quietly.

 

“That doesn't make you my sister, does it?”

 

I burst out laughing and punch his shoulder. “I'm trying to be serious.”

 

“Don't be. Let's not be.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“What's your favorite color?”

 

“Green. Forest green. You?”

 

“Orange. Like a peachy sunset orange.”

 

“You should have said. We could have watched the sunset.”

 

“That's okay. We'll have lots of sunsets.” 

 

That sounds a little serious to me, but he says it very lightly as he takes my hand. Still, I'm distracted at the pizza place where we get dinner. I'm barely hungry. I'm still not totally used to eating all the time. Normally, pizza would have me swooning, but I just take some small bites. I start thinking about Gale. I'm amazed to realize that I haven't thought about him all day. Maybe I should feel bad. He had said 'how could you do this to _me_ '.

 

My feelings about falling in love and getting married and having kids and all have never been a secret from Gale. But I guess he figured he could wait me out and I would change my mind. He thought this even before we had to leave home. How the hell he thinks the last year has warmed me up to the idea is beyond me.

 

But—I had returned his kisses, because it was the easiest thing to do and it felt good at the time. I do wonder a little if he did it on purpose, catching me at times when I just wanted to feel warm and safe. I know he has a sneaky mind—it's what made him such a good trapper back home.

 

And he's succeeded in putting a doubt in my mind. Not about Peeta. I know I can trust Peeta. But Johanna had said she got kicked out when she fought with Mrs. Mellark. What if one of us just snaps one day? It would probably be me, and I'm not sure I trust myself not to do it. What if it was Peeta? Mrs. Mellark could probably get him sent to juvie if he ever hit her. Peeta's probably tougher than I think, but the last thing in the world that I want is a tougher Peeta.

 

“What are you worrying about?” Peeta asks. I realize I've just been staring at my plate for a few minutes. I think he tries to sound casual when he says, “Is everything okay with Gale?”

 

“He was upset,” I shrug.

 

“He's not your cousin, is he?”

 

“No,” I snort. “But we grew up together. We've been best friends since I was twelve. I'd be dead without him,” I say matter-of-factly.

 

“I didn't know things were that bad.” I open my mouth and he adds, “And before you ask, no, I still haven't read your file. I don't know what's in there, but it would take a lot to change my feelings about you, Katniss. Anyway, I get that Gale doesn't trust me. Is that all?”

 

“I don't know. I guess he thinks of me as more than his cousin. I mean, I know he does. I—I told him a long time ago that I never wanted to fall in love, ever. He argued with me, but I thought he got over it when he started talking to other girls. But he keeps bringing it up. I don't know why. I'd make a terrible wife. And I don't think I want to be his girlfriend. I just don't feel that way,” I sigh.

 

“Well, I guess I can't blame him. In his mind, I'm kind of stealing his whole family.”

 

“I never thought about it like that,” I admit. “You know, you're too nice. This is a perfect chance to say, 'yeah, he's a jerk, not like me at all'.”

 

“You say you don't have feelings, and you would know,” he says, looking down at the table for a moment before he meets my eyes and gives me a quick smile.

 

“Thanks for trusting me.”

 

“But,” he says, taking my hand. “Have you changed your mind a little?”

 

“About what?”

 

“Falling in love, ever.”

 

I pull my hand back. “When I think of falling in love, I think of dying. My mother was in love with my father, and she practically died with him. She couldn't work. She couldn't cook. I was eleven and I suddenly had a seven-year-old to feed. I never wanted to fall in love if that was what you were risking. Losing yourself forever.”

 

“Well,” he says, moving his hands to his lap. “Love can be good and bad, I guess.”

 

“Have you ever been in love?”

 

“I don't think so. I mean...I've never felt like this before.”

 

“This is getting really serious,” I say, shoving a bite of pizza in my mouth.

 

“I guess you're right,” he says with a rueful smile.

 

“Me neither, though. About feeling this way.”

 

“I'm happy. But you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, right? Like, you should never do anything because you're worried about being sent away. I won't let that happen.”

 

“I trust you, Peeta. But there are promises you can't really make,” I say, shaking my head sadly.

 

“Katniss, if there's ever anything I can do to help you, I'll be out there doing it.”

 

The words sound wonderful, and it's hard to remind myself not to rely on anyone.

 

***

 

The lights are off in the bakery when we get back, so we sneak in the back door. There's a note on the fridge from Peeta's father saying that Rye called and they're all staying at the farm for the night.

 

“The woods were great,” I say, pulling him towards the basement stairs. “But I'd like to try a bed.”

 

“I don't know, those are the bunk beds the kids sleep in, too. Doesn't Posy sleep under you?”

 

I grumble, but we spread a pile of blankets on the floor without turning on the lights. I'm starting to get nervous. I should do something after what he did this afternoon in the meadow. I can hardly believe I could make someone feel that good. Part of it has to just be Peeta.

 

Peeta must sense my thoughts because he says, “We can just hang out if you want. I—I don't know, maybe I tried to go to fast. I'm sorry.”

 

“Peeta, let me get mad before you apologize, okay?” I reach for him. “We'll just have to see how tired I get.” I kiss him softly and lay back on the blankets. His hands slip under my tank top and up my back. “Thank you for this afternoon,” I say softly, leaning into his chest where he can't see my face. “For all of it, I mean, but you know, for...”

 

“Yeah, I know. I'm happy for you. And happy for me, too,” he laughs.

 

I press closer to him, breathing out against his neck. I bump my legs against his. “So...what should _I_ do?”

 

“You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, Katniss.”

 

“Can I...see it?”

 

He grins. “I'd be honored,” he says, getting to his knees and undoing his jeans. I know it's false bravado by the way he suddenly hesitates, but he goes through with it. It's the first time I've ever seen...well, anything. I take in a quick breath and jump when it moves, all by itself, like it did the night before in my hand. He snickers and says, “Don't worry, that's not a bad sign. It just means I'm—really excited.” He bites his lip and looks down at me. “You have no idea the effect you have on me.”

 

I sit up and reach out, slipping my hand under his sweater to his hip to steady myself. I bring my other hand up, slowly, slowly enough to see that it's shaking, and lay my hand over it, not quite touching, and it jumps into my hand. _It just means I'm really excited._ A desperate surge of heat runs through me and I close my fingers around it, squeezing his hip as I squeeze his cock. The tip is all wet and we both moan the first time my slick hand moves up and down.

 

Peeta moans my name and brings a hand up to my shoulder. His touch drifts up my neck to my cheek, where he brushes away the loose pieces of my braid. I turn my head and press my lips to his wrist before I look up at him. He goes back to my shoulder and huffs, “This is lame of me, but I'm about to come.”

 

“Really? Have you ever done this before?”

 

“Yes, but never with you,” he growls.

 

“Wait.” I look down at his clothes and say, “You have to take your shirt off.”

 

“Do lives depend on it?” he laughs breathlessly.

 

“Yeah, yours.”

 

He takes his shirt off and I suddenly deeply regret not turning the lights on. I know his skin is probably a kind of pale peach, a little brown across his shoulders and the back of his neck. But maybe feeling him is even better. He lays down with a quick, shy smile. “So, now that you have me, what will you do with me?”

 

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure your clothes didn't get messy.”

 

“Really? Don't you think you should take yours off in that case?”

 

Damn. He's got me there. I unzip my jacket and toss it aside. I stumble on the tank top, but I remind myself that Peeta sees me everyday. He knows what I look like—and he knows I don't have a lot to look at under the shirt. I peel it off, toss it aside, and jump on him before he can look, anyway.

 

I can't really move against him the way I think I want to with my jeans on, so I have to lean back after a few kisses. I start to use my hands again, one working and one running up and down his hard thighs that strain under me when he rocks up against my touch. I can see a line of soft blonde hairs on his stomach. I scratch my thumb over it and he grasps my hips with a choked moan that sends shivers through me. I move restlessly, my whole body burning, as I watch the flush grow deeper and darker on Peeta's face, his teeth biting down on his lip.

 

A new thought runs through my head and I didn't think it sounded so great when I heard about it, but now, holding the unbelievable hardness of him in my hand, I can suddenly see the appeal.

 

I still manage to feel shy despite my bold thoughts. I all but whisper, “Can I put my mouth on it?”

 

“Oh my God,” Peeta groans. “Katniss--”

 

I squeak a little in surprise when stuff starts to come out. I knew it would, I _have_ taken sex ed (with thirteen year olds). But I didn't know it would be so fast and strong and exciting. I didn't know about the rush of want that would go through me. I didn't know about the sounds he would make that would sing in my ears.

 

“Sorry to disappoint, babe,” he laughs breathlessly. “You looked up at me and said that and I was just done for.”

 

Peeta gets cleaned up and collapses back into the blankets with a sigh. I tuck myself into his side with a sigh of my own, curling myself against him.

 

He runs a hand up and down my back and then a little further, his fingers wiggling into the back pocket of my jeans. His brings his other hand around to my hip and says, “So how tired are you?”

 

“Not that tired,” I say, my lips brushing against his neck.

 

“Do you wanna undo these?” he asks, dragging his fingers along the edge of my jeans. He opens them at my nod.

 

Jeans! Now that I'm more prepared, I notice how I can barely move my legs and it's not long before I get too frustrated to ignore it. I sit up, shoving my hair back, and point at my jeans. “Take them off,” I demand.

 

“Oh my god,” Peeta groans, tugging them down my legs. “I don't think I can handle you being bossy.”

 

Of course, once they're off, I feel too shy to move my legs anyway. Until Peeta leans over and kisses the curve of my hipbone. “Mm, I wish we had turned the lights on.”

 

“I was thinking the same thing. About you, I mean. I'm glad they're off right now,” I admit.

 

“I'll just have to imagine how gorgeous you look,” he says, sliding a hand up my leg and dipping between them when I shift them apart. He moans my name against my hip and looks up at me as he slowly works one finger inside me. There's a burning and a throbbing that spreads to my belly and drives the breath from my lungs.

 

Then Peeta looks up at me with a sweet smile and says, in the most ridiculous falsetto, “Can I put my mouth on it?”

 

I let out a breathless laugh and kick him. “I don't sound like that!”

 

“I'm sorry, you were just so cute, I couldn't resist,” he snickers. “And you're so cute when you try to look mad. And,” he continues, curling his finger. “You're so cute when you bite your lip like that.” He looks up at me and meets my eyes for a moment before he leans in between my legs. I catch a glimpse of his pink tongue before it presses against me and I think I may scream, but all that comes out is a choked moan. It's not even a minute before I come, probably pulling a chunk of Peeta's hair out.

 

“I think this may be the best day of my life,” he says, laying down next to me. He pulls me close and I roll against him just as I did five minutes ago. I'm happily drifting until something occurs to me.

 

“Have you done that before?” I ask.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you a virgin?”

 

“No.” He frowns. “Are you disappointed?” he asks, echoing my own question. “I did it with my friend Delly kind of out of curiosity and, you know, to make sure I wasn't horrible at it. But Katniss, I meant what I said. I've never felt this way before.”

 

I already feel too raw to say it again, so I kiss him instead, softly and then deeply, until he pushes me away with a gasp.

 

“Mm, I should go before we get in trouble. And I guess we should probably slow down a little. I mean, your first kiss was, like, thirty-six hours ago.”

 

“Do you still think I'm so pure?” I smirk.

 

“No, I'd say you've pretty much been seduced to the dark side.”

 

“Remember when I said you look like an angel?”

 

“Change your mind?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. He gives me a quick kiss and stands up to get dressed. He's right that we could get into trouble, but I want, selfishly and recklessly, to stay in his arms all night. But I'm so tired by the time Peeta's dressed that I don't think it will matter.

 

He leans over and kisses me softly. “Promise you won't fall asleep like this.”

 

I hate the thought of getting up, but I know he's right. “Promise,” I grumble.

 

“Well, if they find you like this, I'm saying you got drunk.”

 

 

“Peeta, they would never believe that.”

 

“Hmm, we could throw some pea soup on the floor and say you got sick?”

 

I sit up with a sigh. “I'm going, I'm going.” I duck behind the bunk beds and change while Peeta tosses the blankets back on the pile. I climb up into my bed and he gives me one final sweet kiss. After he leaves, I lay in bed thinking about the last two days in wonder. Was it only just this morning that we had our picnic in the park?

 

I thought I could never fall in love, but it was only because I never had. Now I know: this is what it feels like.

 

It's been such a lovely weekend that I should figure that I would wake up to screaming.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The yelling above my head stops and starts for a few moments. I roll over and check the clock. It's just past six in the morning and I hear Mrs. Mellark in the kitchen, talking to a low voice that I think belongs to Mr. Mellark. I get out of bed and creep up the stairs until I can hear them.

“Who the hell says we can afford to close for the weekend? Why aren't those damn kids here doing it?”

“Rye said he was taking them to the farm.”

“ _What_ ? Was he taking them to _work_?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ugh! He's been spending too much time with Peeta.” I know she has that horrible sneer on her face when she says his name.

“Rye's responsible enough. He's in charge of the bakery, isn't he?”

“Yes, well, perhaps if you would come back from your silly farm and run your business, you would know what was going on.”

“The farm is a huge asset.”

“Well, this goddamn bakery is an asset too, which is why we're opening it right this second. Go get your idiot son.”

“Honey, why don't you go upstairs and I'll make you a drink. Don't worry about things down here. Rye will be back soon and we can finish the inventory. Go on up,” Mr. Mellark says coaxingly. It's eerie how much he sounds like Rye.

“Ugh! Honestly, this family is trying to drive me insane.” I hear her storm through the front door and up the stairs to their apartment. I breathe a sigh of relief while Mr. Mellark curses under his breath and follows her out the front door. I can't imagine how Peeta will feel waking up to this, especially with his father delivering the news. I sigh and go down to get dressed.

I meet Peeta on the stairs. I grab his hand and start to speak but he cuts me off, simply saying, “Front counter. Sorry.”

I pass Mr. Mellark in the kitchen, but all he does is nod.

Mr. Mellark must have called Rye as soon as she went upstairs because they all rush in an hour later. I hope the kids are doing something outside because I hear the three Mellarks in the kitchen starting to argue, and then I hear Peeta yelling. I feel like I'm eavesdropping, but he's really yelling.

“You're full of shit, Dad!”

“Peeta, you can _not_ speak to me like that!”

“Do you ever worry about how _she_ speaks to _me_ ? I hope you have a lot of money saved up for all the fucking therapy I'm gonna need. But I guess you wouldn't know anything about it, right, Dad? Nothing's out of the ordinary _here_ , right, Dad?”

I have _never_ heard Rye sound anxious, but that's the only word for his voice when he says, “Peeta, Mom's gonna hear you and come down here.”

“Peeta, I understand that you're upset, but you need to go outside and cool off. Go cut some firewood.”

“You're unbelievable.”

The back door slams.

Thankfully, the first customer finally comes in a few minutes later and I don't have to listen to the screaming silence from the kitchen between Rye and his father. I can't imagine how bad things must have been when they were all in one house.

Rory comes out after awhile and gives me a big hug.

“Did you go outside?” I whisper.

“Yeah. Was it bad?”

“It wasn't good.”

“We saw Peeta. He looked—well. You know.”

“Are they okay back there?”

“They're fine. Posy's singing and I think it's softening the old man up,” he says, rolling his eyes.

I sigh, twisting the end of my braid. “Did you have fun, at least?”

He brightens up and says, “Yeah! We went over these hills in the four wheelers and we got sick air. That's what Rye called it. It was awesome. Then we shot cans. Turns out Vince is a pretty good shot.”

“Not you?” I tease.

“Well, you know, I didn't wanna show him up,” Rory says earnestly. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“Cool. Well, I guess we got most of a weekend off, yeah?”

“That's fair, I guess.”

He gives a sly smile and says, “Did you and Peeta make out?”

“Rory, I swear--”

“What? That's what Gale was all mad about, right? He saw you kissing Peeta.”

“What makes you say that?”

He rolls his eyes. “I'm not totally dumb, Kat. For one thing, Gale was all 'watch out for that guy'.”

“You don't know what you're talking about, kid,” I say steadily.

“Whatever. We had grilled duck for dinner. It was really good. We cooked it over a fire and everything.”

“So Rye took good care of you? No rule breaking?”

“I swore I'd never tell.” He bursts out laughing when I glare at him. “Okay, okay, no, nothing fishy.”

Once everything is quiet for a moment, I sneak out to the back to find Peeta. I find Rye instead, leaning against the fence in the alley, drinking from his flask. He doesn't see me until the last moment and he jumps.

“Jesus, Kat, how do you do that? This alley is fucking gravel.”

“Sorry.”

“If you're looking for Peeta, Dad decided they needed to go for ice cream.”

“Are you serious?”

“He does this. He tries to cram a few months of bonding into a one hour talk. I wouldn't be surprised if he gets punched out this time,” he snorts. He takes a drink. “I've never seen Peeta that angry.”

I sigh and lean against the fence. We're silent for a few minutes until Rye turns to me and says, “So I guess you probably think I'm a coward, huh?”

I've tried to put myself in Rye's shoes before. Was it unfair to ask him to protect Peeta and probably invite his mother's wrath? But I always came back to one thing: I would have risked my life for Prim. I could have gotten through anything if I knew it was for her. So, yeah, I do think he's a coward.

He nods at my silence. “It's true. I'm a terrible brother. And with Dad...I don't understand how he could teach us about standing up for what you believe in and then just blind himself to what's happening right in front of him.” He takes another drink and looks down. “Maybe he set a bad example for us. Or I'm just making excuses for myself.” I'm silent and he finally snaps, “Can you say something already?”

“You feel bad about being a coward, so...don' be.” I shrug.

He snorts and starts to respond when the car pulls into the drive. I turn around and he's gone.

Peeta gets out of the car first and slams the door. He's halfway down the drive before his dad can catch up. Mr. Mellark reaches for his arm and Peeta backs away.

“Dad, we're not talking about this anymore. I was being totally serious when I said I don't care if I ever talk to you again. Besides, Dad, why would you want my advice? Don't you know how stupid I am? Don't you know what a waste of space I am?”

Mr. Mellark's face is white. “Peeta--”

“Don't 'Peeta' me, Dad. You let everything happen and you'll keep letting it happen until the day you die. But I won't be around to see it.”

After a long, long silence, Mr. Mellark lets out a shaky sigh and says, “Peeta, we'll talk about this in the morning.”

Peeta sniffs and rubs his face. “Yeah, okay, Dad.” He sighs with such despair that I can hardly stop myself from running over to him. Luckily, his father hurries into the house without another word. Peeta jumps when I hiss his name in the dark.

I want him to run into my arms, but he turns away from me. “Have you been listening this whole time?”

“I'm sorry. I was out here looking for you.” I touch his shoulder and it's tense and trembling under my hand. I know I should be more discreet, but I slide my arms around him from behind and give him a quick, tight hug. He lets out a shaky breath and turns around.

“Nice weekend,” he says with a weak smile.

“It was one of the best weekends of my life.”

His smile grows and he leans and kisses me softly. “I wish we could stay out here forever.”

“Get awfully cold.”

His hands are only a little chilly where they slip under the edge of my sweater. Peeta always seems to be hot, especially his hands. They spread warmth all through my body and I don't want to pull away even though we should definitely be getting inside. I'm amazed how quickly we forget about everything that's happening.

Then there's the clatter of a mixing bowl on the kitchen floor and we give each other wary looks before we move closer to the bakery door.

“Ma, honestly,” Rye's saying. “It was _my_ idea. I'm sorry.”

“What were you thinking?” I can tell Mrs. Mellark is gritting her teeth. “No. No, I refuse to believe that.”

“I wanted the weekend off! I practically run this place, remember?”

“And taking those goddamn kids to the farm? You're telling me that wasn't your brother's idea? It's exactly the kind of stupid thing he would do.”

“It was my idea.”

“Why are you covering for him?”

“I'm not. I'm just saying it was my idea.”

“Well, I don't know what you were thinking. Maybe I need to be keeping a closer eye on this place.”

“I just wanted the weekend off, Ma, honestly. Everything is fine here. Maybe we can go someplace next weekend, yeah?”

“And leave your father or your brother in charge? I don't think so.”

“Peeta's not as bad at math as his teacher made out.”

“That's not saying much. Besides, you know what a little suck-up he is. They were probably being nice.”

“Well, I've seen him do math.”

“I certainly hope you check his numbers.”

“I always check his numbers.”

Their voices start to move away. I feel suddenly guilty for being here, since I know Peeta must be wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him. As usual, I'm at a loss for words, so I just slip my hand into his and kiss him gently, turning his eyes away from the door.

“Best weekend,” I say again.

His eyes are vivid where they catch the light from overhead. “Do you mean it?”

“Do I say things I don't mean?”

He snorts. “No. That's one of my favorite things about you.”

“After what?”

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” he chuckles. He hugs me tight with a sigh. “You always make me feel better.”

“That's me,” I mumble against his chest. “Full of sunshine.”

It's crazy how clueless Mrs. Mellark is about what goes on in the bakery considering how obsessed she seems to be with its profits. Rye doesn't do the books. Rye would probably run screaming from the room if he saw 'the books', as they were.

It's actually Bran, the elusive older brother, who does all the accounting for the bakery, only because he thinks he's the only 'objective party' who can do it. 'Objective' is Bran's favorite word. He looks like Peeta, but he's the complete opposite. Rye has a warmth to him, even if it _is_ annoying and possibly just because he's drunk. Bran is as cold as his mother. I can easily see him standing by and watching her hurt Peeta, maybe even meeting his brother's pleading gaze and turning his back on him.

I wish I could put him somewhere safe where he can't get hurt, but he's already in the place he should be the safest.

“We'll be eighteen in two years,” I whisper.

“You don't think you'll be sick of me in two years?”

“You're funny.”

His fingers run through my hair and if it weren't for the damp and cold, I could fall asleep. Eventually, he says, “I have a pile of homework.” I've no doubt he's itching to get to the relative safety of his room. He looks down and says, “I wish I could see you tonight, but...”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” I point out. But I know we'll probably never have another weekend like this.

* * *

 

Rory corners me after dinner and says, “Kat, really, what happened this weekend?”

“I told you its none of your business, Rory.”

“Do you like Peeta?”

“Of course I like Peeta,” I huff. “Everyone likes Peeta.”

Rory rolls his eyes. “Don't make me say ' _like_ like or just like?'”

“Yes,” I sigh in defeat. “I do. And yes, that's what Gale was mad about.”

“Well, I gotta tell you something. I don't wanna rat out Gale, but if he's mad at you, you might wanna know.”

“Rory, get to it, would you?”

“Trevor said he was at high school party and he saw Gale kissing someone.”

“What? Gale was at a high school party?”

“Yes, and more what I'm trying to get at, he was kissing someone.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. Trevor said it was some blonde girl,” he shrugs. “Do you think he went because he was mad?”

“Gale is an adult,” I snap. “He does whatever he does because he wants to.”

Rory gives me a hard look and says, “Gale does what he has to do to look out for us.”

“Making out with girls at parties?”

“Besides this,” he grumbles.

“You know I love Gale,” I sigh. “I know the things he's done for us, probably a lot better than you, Rory. But he's not always right.”

“Whatever. I told you. My duty is done.”

I lay in bed that night torn between guilt and anger. I feel angry with Gale for being so obvious and for going out and doing something probably stupid over me. Then I feel guilty because I always told him I didn't want to fall in love and a few months later, I'm practically sitting in Peeta's lap while we make out. He's working for our future and I'm taking the weekend off to get felt up at the park. Who is this poor blonde girl? And why was Gale out at a party kissing her if he was so worried about me?

I can't sleep all night, and by the time I get out of bed, the next morning, I already know that I'm cutting the afternoon to talk to Gale. I don't know what's gonna happen, but I know Gale is not talking his way out of this one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.” ― The Hunger Games


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

 

 

By the time I get out of bed the next morning, I already know I'm cutting the afternoon to find Gale. Rye looks miserable, like he hasn't gotten any sleep. Mr. Mellark is already gone. Peeta grabs me just inside the door, after everyone else has gone out, and kisses me quickly. “I missed you last night. Is that dumb?”

 

“No. I'll miss you all day,” I whisper, my cheeks burning. “Be safe.”

 

“I'll be at school, I'll be plenty safe,” he says with a grimace. I have plenty of time to kiss it away before Rye comes into the kitchen, looking carefully at the ceiling. We should definitely be more careful. I hate to think about what Mrs. Mellark would do—send me away, for certain, and probably only me, out of spite. I don't wanna think about it. I squeeze his hand and hightail it to school, having to chase after the kids for a few blocks.

 

I'm impatient to get out of school, but I wanna stop by and tell Madge that I'm leaving, and hold up my end of the lunch bargain. She has some kind of crunchy bread with a soft spread and a side of strawberries. I put down my apples and peanut butter and say, “I have to go.”

 

I've been brooding all morning and I must look mad because Madge bites her lip and says, “How come?”

 

I sigh. I don't vent, but I'm so frustrated that I huff, “I'm so mad at Gale.”

 

Madge is silent for a second. “What do you mean?”

 

“He was such a jerk to me on Friday and then I found out he was at some party this weekend.”

 

“Is that a big deal?” she asks. She has stopped eating.

 

“He was kissing someone!”

 

“Oh?...Who?”

 

“I don't know. Some blonde. After all the stuff he's said, I just can't believe he would do that.”

 

I take a bite of apple. Madge's eyes are full of tears when I look up. “What's with you?”

 

“Katniss,” she whispers. “There's something I think I should tell you.”

 

God, what's with all the suspense lately? “Okay, so?”

 

“The blonde girl at the party...”

 

It's obvious, but it still takes me a second to get it. Madge goes to parties. Madge has blonde hair. Madge is beautiful.

 

“I...”

 

“Katniss, I didn't know there was anything going on between you. He said there wasn't.”

 

“There—I mean, there's _not_ , I just—were you ever gonna tell me?”

 

“We talked about it before but I didn't know...”

 

“Wait, what do you mean before? Like, before this weekend?”

 

“Um—yeah?”

 

“So this weekend wasn't the first time?”

 

“No...”

 

So Gale was guilting me with his big, sad eyes and kissing Madge behind my back the whole time.

 

“Madge,” I say, getting up from the table. “You can do whatever you want with Gale—but, personally, I'm gonna kick his ass.”

 

* * *

 

I rehearse my angry speech the whole way over on the bus, but I can't remember any of it when I see him on the football field. His shirt is off and a few girls sit on the bleachers watching him. One of them is a pretty and busty blonde who is probably Madge's cousin Delly. Has Madge been coming here after school and meeting him? I regret not getting more information, and I'm still not sure whether to be mad at Madge or to feel sorry for her. She lied to me, but Gale lied to her. Or he lied to me. I'm kicking his ass either way.

 

“Gale!” I scream. The blonde in the bleachers jumps and then turns to the other girls and starts to whisper furiously. Sounds like Delly. I've no doubt Madge will know all about this by the time I get back to the bakery.

 

Gale spins around and his face darkens when he sees me. He stalks over and says, in a low voice, “What are you doing here, Katniss?”

 

“I've got a damn bone to pick with you, Hawthorne, and if you don't want everyone to hear about it, you better come with me.”

 

We go away from the bleachers and I turn on him. “What did you do on Saturday?”

 

 

“What did _you_ do? Kiss your new boyfriend? You know, the one you never wanted?”

 

“Well, I hear _you_ were kissing someone on Saturday yourself, Gale.”

 

“I don't have to tell you anything about that.”

 

“I know it wasn't just this weekend, Gale, Madge told me!”

 

He hesitates for a second and then says, “Who's Madge?”

 

I slap him. “You're the worst, Gale! You're so damn lucky you're a good brother or I'd tell you to jump off a bridge right now.”

 

“Katniss, I love you.” He cuts off my angry reply. “And I was really holding out hope that you would get past this 'never fall in love' thing, but now I know it was never a 'falling in love' thing. It was a 'never falling in love with _me_ ' thing.”

 

“I--”

 

“And you should have told me a lot sooner. You let me hold you and kiss you and the whole time you said you never wanted it.”

 

I can't deny it. I was a coward and a liar about my feelings for the sake of convenience. I deserve to be left. But Madge doesn't deserve to be used.

 

“You have to tell Madge the truth.”

 

“The truth is that I like Madge. And when I saw her on Saturday, I had no reason not to talk to her. I don't have to wait around on her,” he says, sullenly.

 

“Well, she shouldn't have to wait around on you,” I snap. “And if you're messing around with her because you know she's my friend--”

 

“God, Katniss,” he yells. “Not everything is about you!”

 

“Talk to Madge, or else you'll see me again tomorrow, and I can really embarrass you, Gale, I really can. If you don't act like a jerk, I'll see you on Sunday afternoon.”

 

I storm off the field, but not before waving to Delly.

 

* * *

 

I get back to the bakery an hour before school ends, so I'm able to sneak safely into the basement. I should do my homework, but what I do is take out all of Peeta's sketches and look through them while I lay in bed and sing to myself. Absolutely no one can catch me doing this. I decide that if nothing out of the ordinary happens tonight, I'll sneak up to Peeta's room so I can lay in his arms. And maybe something else, but mostly to lay in his arms. How does someone get used to that so fast? I shared a bed with Prim at home and we would snuggle up on the nights when it got bitterly cold outside the blankets, but I was never the holdee, always the holder.

 

I've made myself practically giddy by the time Peeta finally gets back. I linger by the apple tree and watch for him. When he comes around the corner, I call out his name. He comes over with a somewhat tired smile and sighs, “You have the most beautiful voice, you know?”

 

“You look tired,” I say, pushing his hair back and running my fingers through it. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

 

“I couldn't stop thinking about you,” he admits. He bites his lip and says, “Do you wanna meet tonight?”

 

I smile. “You read my mind.”

 

His hands go to my hips and squeeze. He leans in and kisses me, hard, and I have to pull away after a moment, gasping, “It's not tonight yet.” I smooth downmy shirt and take a deep breath. “We should be more careful,” I say. “You know...” He nods quickly. We linger for a few more minutes under the apple tree, enough minutes that I can barely focus when we start work.

 

A few hours later, he steps up close to me and says, “I got an email from my friend Delly today.”

 

“Uh-huh,” I say. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” Busty and blonde. “Do you know Madge?”

 

“Yeah. I didn't know _you_ knew Madge, though. Delly said you came over and yelled at Gale. What happened?”

 

“Rory told me this morning that he thought Gale had a secret girlfriend. He was right. It's Madge.”

 

“ _Madge?_ Madge and _Gale_?”

 

“Madge and Gale,” I say flatly. “For a few weeks now.”

 

“Ohhhhhh.”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“I should bump into Madge and see if she's okay.”

 

“No...I shouldn't have told you,” I sigh. “Madge shouldn't have to be apart of this,” I sigh.

 

“You should take her some cupcakes.”

 

I roll my eyes. “Cupcakes don't solve everything, Peeta.”

 

“Madge _loves_ red velvet cake.”

 

“How well do you know Madge?” I ask stiffly.

 

“Now don't go getting jealous,” he says, brushing my arm. “I like my dark hair and gray eyes.”

 

Every part of my body wants to jump up and kiss him, but I remind myself to be cautious. “I'll see you tonight,” I whisper.

 

* * *

 

But Peeta's lights are off that night when I make my way upstairs. I knock as quietly as I can and open the door a crack. “Peeta?” I whisper. “Are you in here?”

 

“Katniss...”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

He hesitates before he says okay. “But don't turn the light on.”

 

I get into the bed next to where he's coiled up with his back facing me. His shoulders are rigid when I touch them.

 

“What happened?” I murmur.

 

I hear a break in his breathing, but he just shakes his head. He turns over and pulls me into his arms. He hugs me tight and whispers, “Stay with me?”

 

“Always.”

 

“Well, don't fall asleep,” he chuckles. “I've never seen you first thing in the morning. Don't shatter the illusion.”

 

“Seeing me shoveling the pig pen didn't do that?”

 

“Are you kidding? You looked so cute in those overalls and those big boots. But no,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I don't need an illusion. I see _you_ , Katniss. I see you, and that's what I love.”

 

I'm glad he's not looking at me. I'm not sure what he'd see in my eyes—joy or terror.

 

“I should draw you tomorrow,” he says. He's getting sleepier by the moment. “It's been too long.”

 

“It's been two days!”

 

“Two and half days too many.”

 

“Go to sleep, Peeta,” I say with a smile. His kiss is long and lingering, but he can barely keep his eyes open when he pulls away.

 

“Maybe I'll have Katniss dreams,” he says happily.

 

“Maybe I'll have Peeta dreams, ones where you go to sleep when I tell you to.”

 

I think he falls asleep in the middle of my sentence. I'm too nervous to stay long, so I try to remember this. I can't sneak up here every night. I shouldn't even be here now. How the hell am I gonna get through two more years of this? If I even make it that long before Mrs. Mellark finds us out and sends me away, andshe'd probably break Peeta's fingers and make me watch or something first.

 

Five minutes without Peeta and I'm full of despair. I slip out of his arms and back downstairs.

 

Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Rory has already interrogated me on what happened this afternoon. He was all sullen on Gale's behalf, and the similarities when they pouted drove me crazy. However, he wrapped up his defensive speech by admitting that he likes Peeta and he makes me happy. Then he looked a little confused for a second and added, “But you still suck.”

 

And I'll still have to see Madge tomorrow. I remember her eyes filling with tears at lunch. I've never seen Madge upset. I wonder—she had said she and Gale had talked about telling me. She must have known how Gale felt or _feels_ about me. How had she been able to sit down to lunch with me like nothing was going on? She must hate me. I remember the day she told me where he was. The first thing I had done was rush across town and jump into his arms. Had Delly told her all about that? Does she think I hate her? Is she as convinced of our love as Gale is?

 

I sigh quietly in the dark and I suddenly feel the ache of loss that will sometimes jump on me when I least expect it. I miss my mother, not as she was when she died, but as she was when she _lived_ , before my father was lost to us. I miss the woods and my bow and my father's lake and I start to cry before I can catch my breath. I thought I was pretty good at silent sobs, but Posy gets into bed with me a few minutes later. She puts her little arms around my waist and doesn't try to say anything while I cry myself to sleep.

 

***

 

I don't see any new bruises the next morning, but I know that doesn't mean anything.

 

I search the halls for Madge between classes, although I feel like I might dive into the nearest closet if I see her. I'm surprised when I find her at our usual lunch table.

 

I've never seen Madge angry before. Her cheeks go red as soon as she sees me. I sit down cautiously. I'm not sure what to say, so I take my sandwich out and set it between us.

 

“You didn't have to do that, Katniss,” she mumbles angrily.

 

“You probably don't mean the sandwich.”

 

She gives me a withering look. “That was humiliating, Katniss! Having some other girl run up and say 'you have to tell Madge the truth!'. We didn't even want anyone to know!”

 

“Madge, I'm sorry, I was just so mad at Gale. I thought he was...I don't know...”

 

“Using me?”

 

“Well...Madge, I don't know what Gale told you about me and him, but there's nothing going on between us.”

 

“He said he was hung-up on you and he didn't know when it would go away.”

 

“Oh...well, if he told you that, then why...”

 

“I like him,” she says simply. “I went to meet Delly after school one day and she was talking to him. I didn't know his name until he was already gone.”

 

“So how long did you wait before you said anything?”

 

She looks hurt. “I didn't wait, I told you the next day. I just—bent the truth.” She looks down at the table. “After Delly told me about what happened that day, that first time you went to the school, I figured that was the end of it. But I went to meet Delly again and he was there. I guess maybe it's pathetic that I still like him even though he told me he was practically in love with you, but…..I like him.” She hesitated and then added, “And I don't think he really loves you, anyway.”

 

I frown, but I probably don't want to hear any more. “So did you guys talk?”

 

Her cheeks get darker. “No,” she mumbles.

 

“Damn it, Gale,” I sigh.

 

“Oh, no, it's not like that. He—he came to my window, but I was too embarrassed to see him,” she admits.

 

“Oh, Madge, I'm sorry. I screwed everything up.”

 

“It's okay.” She gives me a shy, quick smile. “I'm sure he'll be back tonight.”

 

“I don't need to hear anything about it,” I say quickly.

 

“Is that ham or turkey?” she asks.

 

And just like that, things are back to normal.

 

***

 

I have a surprise at the bakery—Effie, chatting with Peeta at the counter. She's wearing a carefully pressed pink and purple suit with matching eyeliner. As usual, she looks beautiful, delicate, and completely impractical. She's about six weeks late for her two week follow-up, but Effie is so busy that no news is good news. I'm glad I've got good news—for once.

 

Well, mostly. We move to a booth at the back of the bakery. I know I should catch her up, but I have to ask first.

 

“Did you know about Mrs. Mellark?”

 

Effie's eyes go to Peeta before she can stop them. Just as she did the day we arrived here, in the same brittle voice, she says, “I've placed a lot of children with the Mellarks.” I want to be angry, but I, of all people, know that it's not as simple as taking someone out of their home and sending them somewhere else. I'm sure Effie must think about it and see the same horrible possibilities I do.

 

I nod. “Well, everything is fine here.”

 

She sighs with relief. “Wonderful. Are you and Peeta getting along? He's such a nice boy, such good manners.”

 

“Yes, Peeta's very nice.”

 

“But not _too_ nice,” she adds quickly. “You _are_ both sixteen and I imagine--”

 

“Effie, please _don't_ imagine!” I hiss, my face burning. “You don't have to worry,” I mumble. I hope it's the truth.

 

She gives me a scrutinizing look and finally says, “You're a smart girl, Katniss.”

 

“We found Gale.”

 

“Peeta told me. He'll be eighteen in three months. He's planning to petition the court for custody of the kids.”

 

“Does he actually have a chance?”

 

“No, frankly.”

 

“Does he know that?”

 

“You know Gale,” she sighs. “Still, he'll be able to see them more. I'm so glad things are working out here so everyone can stay together. It _is_ working out?”

 

“It's fine, Effie. Everything's okay.”

 

Her eyes get a little misty. “Katniss, dear, I--”

 

She's cut off when Posy squeals and jumps into the booth beside her. Effie quickly presses her tears away and wraps her up in a hug.

 

“I better get back to work,” I say. _Before you start crying._

 

“Yes, dear,” Effie croaks. “Do call if you need me.”

 

I watch the counter while Effie talks to the kids one-by-one. I hope everyone gives her the same assurance I did.

 

Peeta's light isn't off that night. His room is a tiny one off the back hall of the bakery, across from the restroom and next to the office. I think it was supposed to be a utility closet, to be honest. There's enough room for a bed and a dresser and a desk, with about six inches left over. He's sitting up in bed, sketching. I slip in and close the door behind me. He grins and flips the sketch around to show me. When I come closer, I see that it's a drawing of me with a bow and a pile of dead squirrels around me.

 

He tosses the sketchbook aside and gestures for me to lay down next to him. We don't talk about anything that's happened, about Madge or Effie or anything. He doesn't kiss me softly and he doesn't hesitate to slide his hands under my shirt, those hands that are almost rough, but soft enough that he can make me shiver just by running a hand down my back. We press together as tight as we can, our legs tangled and restless. We're too nervous to take our clothes off, but that doesn't stop me from being overcome by the feelings that pulse through me, leaving me shuddering against Peeta's chest.

 

He pulls back after a bit and sighs my name. Looking into my eyes, he bites his lip and murmurs, “I think my worst fear might be losing you. Is that crazy? I know there are worse things, but that's the thing I have nightmares about. Someone taking you away from me, someone hurting you.”

 

 

And he's right that there are much worse things than that, really. But I don't have to consider it long before I realize that losing Peeta would be a special kind of pain, to have something so sweet and pure, so new and raw, and then lose it...all the losses would hurt again, and maybe more than ever.

 

He frowns and says, “Why do I get the feeling I said the wrong thing?”

 

I think about forcing a smile and saying I'm fine. Instead, I say, “You might lose me, Peeta. But you'll move on and keep going. That's what you do. It's all you can do.”

 

“I know you're right,” he admits. “But I'm gonna do whatever I can to hold onto you, Katniss. I promise.”

 

I run my fingers through the soft, thick waves of his hair. “I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever,” I whisper.

 

“Oh, come on, there's gotta be better moments than _this_ to live in forever. Let's see if we can make a better one,” he says, pulling me close again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live in it forever.” - Catching Fire


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Mellark has a very wealthy friend with an apartment downtown with a doorman and a marble hot tub and a balcony. We know because she mumbles it under her breath sometimes when she rifles through the cash register. As the weather warms up, she spends more and more time there. We sometimes go almost a week at a time without seeing her. It's just me and Peeta in charge after dinner when Rye leaves. We fall into an easy rhythm and it takes me awhile to recognize the feeling I get when we all play around in the bakery while we do the dishes, or mumble to pass the toast at breakfast—it reminds me of home.

 

That Friday after our confrontation on the football field, I finally get the truth out of Gale—eventually. After another round or two of trying to convince each other, he finally bursts out, “Catnip, it wasn't supposed to be like this, there wasn't supposed to be anyone else, we were never supposed to be here. We're supposed to be together, at home, and if I let you go, it's like—it's like we're giving up. Isn't that why you let me kiss you all those times? Because it was...I don't know, like home?”

 

“Gale, things can never be like they were before, no matter what we do.”

 

“You're right,” he admits quietly. “We're not the same, any of us.” We both look down at the ground in silence. A dandelion springs out of the crumbling dirt at the base of the apple tree. “There's no such place as home,” he says. He seems thoughtful more than sad at the idea. “It's all inside you.”

 

I clear my throat and blink a few times before I say, “That's very touching, Gale.”

 

He rolls his eyes and pushes my shoulder. “Shut up, Everdeen. You really kill these moments, you know. Do you do this to your brother?”

 

“Yes, I do, and don't call him that.”

 

“I still don't trust him.”

 

“I know. I don't blame you. But I can trust him.” A blush creeps over my face when I think about sleeping in his arms and the happy haze that drifts over me right before I fall asleep, when I wonder sometimes if it's a dream because it feels so good. “What about Madge?”

 

“Can I trust her? More like can she trust me,” he says with a grimace. I remember him somewhat bragging about kissing girls behind our little school or out by the bluffs.

 

“Well, here's a motivation: I'll really kick your ass if you hurt Madge. You know I can shoot. Better than you,” I smirk.

 

“Is your bow still in the hollow tree past the creek?” he asks, suddenly serious.

 

One of those waves of pain comes over me and I can only nod.

 

“I'm gonna go back and get it someday. I swear it.”

 

I think of the burnt husk and charred earth that is my childhood home. I shake my head and gasp, “I can't go back.”

 

“I'll bring it back,” he promises. He takes my hand and says, “I'll always love you, Catnip. You're my family.”

 

Does that make me your sister? I don't think laughing is the right response here. “I love you, too,” I say quickly.

 

He rolls his eyes. “Well, I won't say it again. It's obviously too painful for you.”

 

The weeks pass in an unfamiliar peace. That's probably why I'm so unprepared that afternoon. I'm the only one in the kitchen by bizarre chance. It's a Thursday in May and it's the last week of school, so the adults, as we are, took pity on the kids and have more or less let them loose in the backyard. Peeta is patiently listening to Posy go on and on, probably about the art camp she was going to next weekend. We had come up with a cover story to explain the four hours she'd be away on our busiest days—she was violently ill and had to see a doctor, but they had definitely gone to the community clinic and not the hospital because that would be far too expensive. Posy had said, very seriously, “I'll paint myself green when I leave so you can tell I'm sick.”

 

She trails him around while he does all the outdoor work. Vick is sitting under the apple tree, fumbling a little with a knife and hunk of wood. Whittling is something he's picked up from Gale, but he's not great at it yet. I hope I don't have to get out the first aid kit. I work in the kitchen, and Rye stays at the front counter. So I'm all alone when Mrs. Mellark sweeps in. I catch a glimpse of Rye before the swinging door closes. He's white as a sheet.

 

I keep my eyes on the floor and mumble hello, but she isn't paying any attention to me. She rifles around the trays and finally turns to me and says, “Where the hell are the apple muffins?”

 

“Sold out today,” I whisper.

 

“What? Speak up, you little idiot.”

 

“They sold out today,” I say, a shade louder.

 

“No wonder Rye keeps you back here,” she snorts. “Well, the berry scones will be acceptable.” She looks at me expectantly. “Well? Put them in a bag, dummy! God, I swear, Effie brings me the most useless of you little brats.” I press my lips together and hurry to bag the scones, feeling her eyes on the back of my head. “The little ones are your cousins, are they not? And who is that little thug who comes around and goes off with them?” She laughs and says, “Oh, I know all about that. I know what goes on here, don't you forget. Is he your cousin or your boyfriend? I suppose he could be both, you people still do that, don't you?”

 

I turn around, trembling, and hold the bag out in front of me. “Half dozen.”

 

She takes the bag from me and sets it on the counter beside her. “Answer my question,” she says, stepping closer. It's hard not to back up.

 

“I'm sorry?”

 

“Is he your cousin or your boyfriend? Ah,” she laughs, “Look at that blush! Don't act so innocent. I know your type.” I look away and she grabs me, gripping my arm. “Don't get any ideas about my sons, either of them.” And I am afraid of Mrs. Mellark, but I also hate her, I hate her, and that must be what she sees on my face because she tightens her grip and pulls me forward, looking into my eyes. “Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” I whisper.

 

But she doesn't let go. “I don't believe you. I think you've already got started, haven't you?” She lets me go, then, before I can answer. She leans back and studies me, saying, “You are a fairly pretty girl—what's your name?”

 

“Katniss.”

 

“Well, Katniss,” she says, reaching up and playing with the end of my braid. “Don't get any bright ideas about the bakery. Rye would never touch you and Peeta will have this place over my dead body.” She takes my trembling hand. “Do you like it here, Katniss?”

 

“Yes,” I say, my voice wavering.

 

“That's too bad,” she says. “I'm not sure you're a very good example for the younger kids.”

 

“I haven't done anything,” I breathe.

 

“I may have to send you away.”

 

“Mrs. Mellark,” I choke. “Please don't do that.”

 

She's still holding my hot, shaking hand in hers. She lifts our linked hands into the air and smiles for a moment. I almost think she's going to hug me.

 

Instead, she pulls me to the side and presses the back of my hand to the side of the oven. She holds me fast when I try to jerk away and says, “Don't make a sound or I'll drag every single one of those brats in here,” she says coolly.

 

She finally lets go after a few agonizing seconds. I gasp and back as far away from her as I can while I clutch my hand to my chest.

 

“Now you're a real baker,” she snickers. She picks up her scones and adds, “I'll have to see if I can find Effie's number.”

 

I'm still speechless for a few minutes after she's gone. My stomach turns as the pain in my hand gets worse. Tears spill over my cheek as I hurry to the sink, but they're from the fear more than the burn. I have shot wild dogs, I have faced bears, I broke a grown man's nose—yet I know I will have nightmares about Mrs. Mellark smiling and holding my hand.

 

I run the tap as cold as I can get it and stick my hand under. It's not cold enough. I'm about to turn around to get ice when a jar of burn balm is set on the counter next to me. It's not the kind of thing my mom would have made, but it soothes the burn like the water couldn't.

 

“Stove,” I say hoarsely. Rye nods in a pained way. I'm guessing Peeta has burned himself on the stove many times. “She said--” I hesitate, and the one moment is enough to push me over the edge. “She's sending me away,” I sob.

 

“Aw, Kat,” Rye says, squeezing my shoulder. “You know mom is all empty threats. She says she's gonna send everybody away. She won't even remember by lunch tomorrow.”

 

“You don't know that,” I mumble, staring down into the sink. I swallow hard. “She sent Joanna away.”

 

“Johanna?” he says. He looks startled. “How do you know Johanna?”

 

“One of my roommates at the home.”

 

He curses. “How is she?”

 

“I had no idea you cared so much.”

 

He gives me a hard look and says, “I know you don't think much of me, but I do care, believe it or not. Every kid that's lasted longer than three days? I remember them. I remember their names, their stories, whatever they told me of them.” He pauses and looks away. “Jo had two sisters, you know,” he says softly. “Anyway, I couldn't find Jo after she left. That shit it like the witness protection program. I was just curious,” he mutters.

 

“Well, I reckon she's about eighteen now, so I hope she's well. Maybe she'll stop by sometime. If it's safe. She liked it here.” But she couldn't stay. “Rye, she said she was gonna send me away. This isn't any empty threat,” I say, waving my hand at him.

 

“She's not gonna send you away.”

 

“She sent Johanna away,” I repeat.

 

He sighs. After a minute, he says, “Just let me take care of it. Don't worry, okay? Everything's fine.” Rye hasn't lost enough in life to know the sinking feeling inside me, the screaming sense that nothing is fine at all.

 

“Okay.” I sweep away my tears with one hand while Rye bandages my hand. Watching the white stretch of the gauze, I ask, “Has it always been like this?”

 

After a moment, Rye says, “Mom hasn't had the best life. I think in a way she was always trying to toughen us up, you know? Life wasn't fair and we needed to know it. And it worked. Bran doesn't care about anyone and I only care about myself. But she's never been able to change Peeta.” He tapes off the bandage and turns away to the first aid kit. With sudden vehemence, he adds, “He'll never be like her.” He shoves the kit back in the drawer and takes a deep breath before he turns to me. “Why don't you get some air? Send the kids in, would you? Mom's gone.”

 

How strange it is that this tyrant that rules our lives can just come and go. I guess people can get used to anything. We're all living proof.

 

I don't tell Peeta about his mother's threats or my hand. As far as he knows, I splashed hot milk on myself. Still, I'm too rattled to slip into his room that night, so I spend the whole night in my own bed for the first time in weeks. It doesn't do anything to help the feeling of dread that's creeping over me. The kids are too excited about the end of school the next day to sleep, so I lay in silence and listen to them whisper plans for their next trip to the farm. Will they stay if I'm sent away? Are they safe here?

 

Am I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things went long, so I decided to split the next chapter--next one should be up soon!
> 
> Please comment :)


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

 

 

_Am I safe here?_

 

The question weighs on my mind all week, getting worse even as my hand gets better. I'm not sure if Peeta believes that I really spilled hot milk on myself. I hate being in charge of the milk because I always manage to scald it. But we don't say anything about it and I have to wonder how long we could be able to watch each other suffer. I'm not sure which of us would break first.

 

The next Friday, I pull Gale aside. The worry has been weighing on me too much.

 

“Gale,” I say, grabbing a fistful of his jacket. “If something happens or I get sent away, you can take care of the kids, right?”

 

“Catnip, what do you--”

 

“Gale,” I grind out. “ _Just_ promise me you'll take care of them.”

 

“Course I'll take care of them, Catnip, but what's gonna happen to you? If it's that goddamn kid--”

 

“It's not Peeta. Or Rye.”

 

“I thought the father was never there.”

 

“It's—the mother. She said she wanted to send me away.” I absently pick at the bandage on my hand. “I don't know, Rye said not to worry, but...just promise me.”

 

“I'm gonna _get_ the kids,” he says with determination. I try not to look doubtful, but I must fail, because he says, “Don't listen to Effie! I have a plan.”

 

“What is it?” I ask suspiciously. Gale is very talented at convincing himself that something crazy is a great idea. It's how I broke my ankle, but it's also saved our lives once or twice.

 

“Do you know who Madge's father is?”

 

I do, but I always forget. I don't think of Madge as being the mayor's daughter, even though I know it's at least part of the reason that she's my friend and why her only other friend seems to be her cousin Delly. But Delly is just the mayor's _niece,_ which is much less damning.

 

Seam High is the biggest—and bleakest—school in the mayor's jurisdiction. It wouldn't do for Madge to go to Town Lake--the mayor has to show how much he's willing to invest in the low-income neighborhoods, and what more could he risk than his daughter's happiness?

 

Madge is shy anyway, but she might fit a little better at Town Lake. At Seam, most of the kids look at her with an accusing resentment, which Madge accepts quietly, like most things.

 

Gale must be counting on bad press because he continues, “I bet the mayor would just love to get it into the papers that his lovely young daughter is in love with a poor kid from foster care who was just reunited with his brothers and sisters. _So_ tragic.” He rolls his eyes.

 

“Does Madge know about this?” I ask sternly.

 

“It was Madge's idea,” he laughs. “It's always the quiet ones, you know. She's very—crafty.”

 

“Well, I'd be lying if I said that was a bad plan,” I admit. He's always planning a few steps ahead. I think it's what makes the present easier to bear. I know he's still living at the group home and will for the next two months until his birthday. He's probably respected, or maybe feared, and you had to do something to make that happen.

 

“It's smart as hell,” he says proudly. “I would say Madge should be a politician herself, but she's too good for that.”

 

I really don't wanna hear Gale get mushy over Madge right now, but I force myself to say, “That's sweet.”

 

He snorts. “You're such a crap liar, Catnip.”

 

“But none of this has anything to do with me?”

 

“No! Jeez, Catnip, what do I need to do to prove that I just _like_ Madge? Double date? Believe me, she's suggested it. I think she was joking. I hope she was joking.” I imagine us all gathered around a table, people thinking we must be sets of siblings. “Anyway,” he says, suddenly looking almost _shy_. “I was thinking of introducing Madge to the kids.”

 

“Wow,” I say. I squint at him and laugh. “Are you _blushing_?”

 

“I don't tease you, do I?” he snaps.

 

“Yes, you do! Every other sentence!” I cry, pushing his shoulder.

 

“Well, if Madge asks what kind of food you like, be on the look out.”

 

Madge _does_ ask, and she doesn't try to be casual. Apparently, she was really not joking about the double date. I don't know I need to be there—it's obvious that she would spend the whole time staring into Gale's 'stormy' eyes. His eyes are stormy and he's _so_ handsome and Madge must eventually notice my expression because she gives one last little sigh and takes a bite of her cookie. 

 

“Anyway, enough about me,” she says cheerfully. _Finally! “_ What about Peeta?”

 

My face begins to burn. “I don't know what you mean,” I say evenly.

 

“Oh, was I not supposed to know?” Madge asks, cringing. “Sorry. Gale told me.” _Of course he did._ “But I'm so happy!”

 

“Madge, you can't tell _anybody_ about this.”

 

“I understand,” she says with a nod. “He _is_ cute, though,” she adds in an undertone. “I mean, not as cute as--”

 

I groan and drop my head to the table. Where is my quiet, quiet Madge? But this Madge has a big sunny smile, so I can't stay annoyed.

 

“ _Stormy,_ ” I say to Peeta that night. “I mean, that's not even a color, what does it _mean_?”

 

“It's a perfect word,” he says, looking to my own regular _gray_ eyes. “That's why it's so hard to get them right in pictures. They sort of..swirl.”

 

I give him a skeptical look. “Are you sure I wouldn't feel that?”

 

“You're so silly,” he laughs, taking my hand. He shows me his latest sketch. He's finally branched out to subjects besides me. I'm not jealous at all. This is one ofPosy standing next to a pony. His thumb slides over the back of my hand, still pink, and murmurs, “What happened to your hand again?”

 

“Milk.”

 

“Mm.”

 

We don't hear from Effie for a week, so I breathe easy. Mrs. Mellark is away somewhere, at her friend's fabulous apartment or beach house or house boat or something. The kids start planning their next trip to the farm in earnest as soon as Rye mentions it. They're selling some of the pigs there and Rory gets it into his head that he's gonna wrestle one. Rye just shrugs and speculates that they could probably make some cash off it. Rory is a little less enthused by the idea of doing it with people jeering on the sidelines, but he'd never back down from a challenge.

 

***

 

The burn has gone away by the next time I see her. She's not alone this time. She comes in when I'm at the counter, and at her side is a man who is almost as tall as Gale, with close-cut gray hair and cold, flat blue eyes. He gives me a smile, not a nice one, and it takes everything in me not to shudder. I quickly try to think of who else is here. But how would I get away from the counter? I swallow and force a smile.

 

“Hello, Mrs. Mellark,” I say, avoiding her eyes, looking somewhere near her lipsticked mouth before I quickly look down.

 

“God, who keeps putting you at the counter?” she snaps. “Rom, this is the new girl. She can help you. I have to get my things.” She heads for the stairs and throws a smirk over her shoulder at the man. “Have whatever you like down here.”

 

I try to figure out whether it's worth the risk of punishment to just run into the back room and beg someone to replace me. But his eyes are on me, all over me, before I can move.

 

I swallow dryly and say, “What can I get you?”

 

“How long you been here?”

 

I hesitate, glancing at the pastry case. _Please_ look at the cinnamon rolls. “About six months.”

 

“You like it?”

 

“It's wonderful.” I force another smile.

 

“You must be something if Kelly wants you around.” He puts hand on the counter and drums his fingers. “Kelly likes her workers very--obedient,” he says. Both his voice and my stomach drop on the last word.

 

I clear my throat and mumble, “I'm guess I'm a hard worker.”

 

He leans on the pastry case and his arm drapes over it and comes close enough to run a finger along the braid that rests over my shoulder. I can't do anything but look down and try not to panic. Whatever happens, I can't panic.

 

“I'll bet,” he says. “Now--”

 

I jump at the sound of the door swinging open and smacking against the wall, but all this man does is look up in annoyance as Rory comes out of the kitchen with a cart full of fresh savories for the quick dinner rush.

 

“Hey mister,” he says brightly, coming to stand next to me. “Have you ever tried our spinach pretzels?”

 

The man rolls his eyes and starts to speak but Rory grips my elbow and says, “Hey, can you make more frosting for the chocolate chip cupcakes?”

 

I make it to the back room in record time, my heart pounding. My deepest desire is to dive into one of the cabinets in the back of the bakery, which should be just big enough to fit in. The kids are already out of the kitchen, so I can back into the warm corner by the ovens and wait out the shivers. I'm curled down in the shadows when the back door opens and Mrs. Mellark comes in, followed by an ominously silent Peeta. They come to stand next to the island, perilously close to what has suddenly become my hiding spot.

 

“I don't know what you think I did,” Peeta murmurs, shaking his head. “I didn't say a word. She just has to check in sometimes.”

 

They must be talking about Effie. She must have picked the worst time to call.

 

“Well, _I_ told her something,” she says. “I told her I thought the oldest one is a bit of a troublemaker and I certainly don't want that cousin or whatever he is lurking around in my backyard. She should be gone by next week.”

 

My stomach drops again, and even further when Peeta replies, “I don't believe you.” What the hell is he doing?

 

She hits him, in that eerily casual way she has. The strength of her blows is only apparent afterward, in the bruises they make. “Don't you dare talk back to me, you little ingrate,” she sniffs. Then she smirks and says, “You're right, though. I'd rather have her on-hand for now. She could be quite pretty once I get some make-up on her. Ah,” she says teasingly, giving him a little push. It's almost looks like an affectionate gesture but her voice as cruel as ever. “Look at you, turning all red. I suppose you think yourself quite in love with her, don't you?” she chuckles. “Ugh, and with Rye and that little bitch. No accounting for taste.”

 

“Johanna.”

 

“What?”

 

“Her name was Johanna.”

 

“Who cares? Anyway, I'm sure Kat whatever puts on a good act, but I hope she doesn't think she's gonna get much out of you.”

 

“I'm sure she's too busy stealing the silverware,” he mutters.

 

“Excuse me?” She grabs him by the chin and hisses, “If you're gonna decide to grow a backbone, you won't be using it to disrespect me, do you understand?”

 

He reaches of slowly and grasps her wrist. She must be in a state of shock because she lets him pull her hand away.

 

“Just leave them alone.”

 

He turns away and I think he might see me before she pushes him. She rises above him with the rolling pin, still dusted with flour, and brings it down on his back with a dense thud. He falls over and I'm paralyzed for a moment, but after another hard blow across his ribs, I find myself screaming and running forward.

 

Mrs. Mellark looks up in astonishment. “What are you doing in here, you little creep? Were you lurking in the corner?” She hits him again and his breath comes out in short, raspy wheezes. When she raises the rolling pin again, I jump forward and catch her arm. She looks at me incredulously as we struggle for the pin. “You little--”

 

The door to the front of the bakery swings open and Rye rushes in, probably brought back my scream. He rushes forward and pulls the pin away from both of us.

 

“Mom, please, _”_ Rye says, his voice shaking. He holds the pin to his chest and says, “Peeta can't work with broken ribs, can he?” He puts an arm around Mrs. Mellark, still holding on to the pin. “Mom, you're stressing yourself out. Come on, let's go upstairs and I'll make you a drink.”

 

The blood is pounding in my ears as I watch them go, only able to breathe once they're out of sight and I hear them unlocking the door upstairs. I sink to the floor with a sob, tentatively putting a hand on Peeta's back. I stammer his name and he gives a violent cough and then moans in pain.

 

“I can't breathe,” he gasps.

 

I press my hands over his ribs with my hands shaking. “I don't think anything's broken. I'll get ice,” I say numbly, but I instead lean forward and kiss his wet cheek. I rub at my face and jump up, getting ice from the back freezer.

 

We're huddled on the floor in silence when Rye comes thundering down the stairs and stops in the doorway, panting for breath. He clears his throat and says, in a wavering voice, “Peeta, can you come help me with something real quick.”

 

“For God's sake, Rye--” I start.

 

“Katniss, just--”

 

“No, Rye,” I snap. “There's _nothing_ that can be so urgent.”

 

“I beg to differ,” he says darkly. “Fine, _you_ help me then.”

 

“What the hell's going on?” Peeta croaks.

 

“I just need some help upstairs.”

 

“Why?”

 

“For fuck's sake,” Rye yells. “Can someone just help me?”

 

“Fine,” getting up from the floor.

 

“I'm coming with you,” Peeta says. He holds up a hand to cut off my protests.

 

It takes both of us to get Peeta up the stairs. Rory stops us at the bottom of the steps and says, “What's going on?”

 

“Nothing, we just need to talk about something upstairs,” Rye says quickly.

 

Rory narrows his eyes. “We never go upstairs.”

 

“Just stay at the counter!”

 

The apartment at the top of the stairs is beautiful inside, but we don't stop until we get to the back of the apartment. The bathroom. The light inside shimmers on a thin stream of water that's gathering at the threshold.

 

Rye puts a shaking hand on the knob and says, “She just wouldn't stop _talking_ , you know?” He pushes the door open without looking inside.

 

Rye huddles against the wall and Peeta is slowly but surely slumping onto the ground, the grinding sound of his breath loud in the still air.

 

I square my shoulders and step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's in the bathroom, eh?
> 
> Please comment if you're enjoying the story!


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

 

 

Have you ever seen a dead body? I have, before, on my mother's table. A man lost a leg and bled out too fast to stop. I couldn't stand it. I ran outside and hid in the bushes. But I can't hide from this.

 

Mrs. Mellark is dead. I can see that in her blank eyes and the way her body sits stiffly in the tub. There's a radio floating at her feet.

 

“Rye...” I whisper.

 

“What is it?” Peeta asks from behind me. He looks in before I can answer and I feel him almost fall against me. In a voice like a child, a voice I doubt he's used in a long time, he says, “...Mom?”

 

We both look to Rye in the following silence and he slides down the wall with a groan. “She just wouldn't stop _talking_ ,” he moans again. He carefully averts his eyes from the bathroom and says, “She asked me to turn on the radio and I just—I just pushed it a _little_ , and it _flew_ off, it just flew off!” He grabs Peeta's arm. “It was an accident.”

 

Peeta shakes him off. “How can you say it was accident? You just said you pushed it in!”

 

“I nudged it! It was a nudge!”

 

“You _said_ push!”

 

Rye clasps his bother's shoulder and says, “Outside this apartment, it was a nudge. Outside this apartment, it was accident. I mean,” he adds, his face draining of color. “It _was_ an accident.”

 

I'm still standing in the doorway to the bathroom, so I can see what they can't. “We're not gonna be able to say that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Rye asks.

 

“The radio was on the back of the toilet. It couldn't have slipped off the side and gone all the way into the tub. If it slipped, it would have fallen on the floor. I'm sure they'll be able to tell she didn't grab it herself. They'll know it was pushed. At the least, they'll be able to figure out someone else was in here. Right?”

 

“I'm gonna be sick,” Peeta declares, ducking around the corner.

 

I close the door on Mrs. Mellark. “You know, when I said 'don't be a coward', this is _not_ what I meant,” I mutter in Rye's direction.

 

“Well,” Peeta says when he returns. “It can't be an accident, it can't not be an accident. Those are our options.”

 

“I don't know,” I murmur. “No one knows about this but us. Maybe—” I swallow hard and look down at the floor. I can't believe what I'm saying. “I mean...Mrs. Mellark is always saying how she wishes she could just leave. She's always going away. So maybe...”

 

“Maybe she left tonight and we don't know where she went,” Rye finishes.

 

“You really think that would work?” Peeta says doubtfully.

 

“We take a bunch of her clothes, call around to all her friends looking for her. The only person with a reason to push it is Dad. Do you really think he's gonna go to the ends of the earth trying to find Mom?”

 

“That's a stupid plan.” Peeta coughs. “We should just call the police.”

 

“Peeta, if I go to jail, what do you think is gonna happen to you guys? Hell, I don't even have to go to jail, being arrested will probably be enough for them to kick everyone out.”

 

“He's right,” I say quietly, putting a hand on Peeta's arm. “I'm not sure we should call the police.”

 

“This is crazy,” Peeta says, shaking his head. “How the hell are we gonna keep anyone from finding about this? Mom is—I mean, she's _in_ here, how the hell are we gonna get her _out_ of here? Wrap her in a freaking rug? I mean...”

 

“Got a barrel of acid around here?” Rye mutters.

 

Okay, okay, okay...I have to be crafty—I have to think like Madge. Yes, what would _Madge_ do if she had to cover up a suspicious death? Not a question I ever thought I'd ask.

 

It's Peeta who speaks up first, slowly. “The farm…the fence.”

 

“The fence,” Rye says, looking up. He explains, “There's some empty land at the back of the property. The neighbor's house is clear out on the other side of their lot. There's nothing there. No one would notice any digging.”

 

Peeta nods. “I'll take the kids to the farm and you guys stay behind. Then you bring—uh—the body, in the middle of the night while everyone's asleep. We bury it and pretend we were never there,” he says, in a hollow kind of voice.

 

“We can do it tomorrow. Then we'll have all weekend, at least, before it looks suspicious,” Rye agrees. He's looking anywhere but the bathroom door.

 

“Won't your dad be there?” I ask.

 

“He'd never call Mom if he could help it,” Rye scoffs. “He'll just assume you and I are here working our asses off.”

 

The thought of sleeping in the same house with... _it_...makes me nauseous, but there's no way we can do anything now. Besides, Peeta can barely breathe, there's no way he'll be able to dig. A grave. I'll be digging a grave in a little over twenty-four hours.

 

After a moment of silence, Rye nods. “Okay. That's the plan. But the kids will think it's awful weird that they're going to the farm when Peeta can barely breathe. It doesn't make sense. Posy might let it go and Rory probably knows better than to ask, but Vick, I swear to god, Vick wants to know _everything_. Saying it's grown-up stuff doesn't work for shit, either.”

 

Peeta rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

 

Finally, I say, “Just tell him not to ask questions. That'll do for now.”

 

Rye looks as sick as I feel, but he says, “Well. I can take care of things up here.”

 

“Well, I sure won't fight you on that,” Peeta says. He gets up with some difficulty.

 

Rye opens the bathroom door just enough to stick his hand and fish around on the table next to the door. He pulls out a bottle of pills. “Take these,” he tells Peeta. His breath hitches and he says, “I'm sorry, Peeta, I'm so--”

 

“Give me some of those,” Peeta says, slumping against the wall. Rye pops open the bottle and hands him two little white pills. Peeta swallows them dry, squeezes Rye's shoulder, and says, “Good luck up here.”

 

I almost feel bad for Rye as we go down the stairs, but not as bad as I feel for Peeta, who is wheezing and keeling over more with every breath. I know the kids notice and I just hope they're used to it enough now (a wish I never thought I'd make—this is a night full of firsts) that they don't think on it too much. While Peeta is showering—very slowly, as he refused my help—Rory comes up to me where I'm standing guard next to the bathroom with one ear on the door.

 

“Will he be able to work?” he asks quietly.

 

I decide this is a perfectly good time to share the surprise. “Actually, y'all are gonna go to the farm tomorrow.”

 

“The farm? Why?” I know he's thinking that if Peeta can't work, we all need to be here. And tomorrow's a Saturday? He's right, this doesn't make sense. It's the most obvious scheme ever. There are so many things that can go wrong. The entire plan hinges on the Mellarks' terrible marriage. A good bet—but one to gamble my life on?

 

“They need help,” I say shortly.

 

Rye looks at me for a long moment and finally says, “Okay. Do we have to get up early?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Who's staying behind?”

 

“Just me and Rye.”

 

“But that doesn't--” He stops himself. “Well, sucks for you,” he shrugs. He forces a smile and says, “We can do the close. Help Peeta.”

 

I eventually have to barge in on Peeta after he doesn't answer my knocking. He has gotten as far as his boxers before he decided to lay down on the floor and take a nap. I don't blame him. I wish I could ask Rory for help getting him to his bed, but I don't need anyone else to know how bad it is. It hits me as I'm tucking Peeta into bed how massive this secret is and how long I'll have to keep it.

 

I lay down next to him on the bed over the blankets. His eyes are hazy as he reaches down and takes my hand. He sighs my name, sounding almost happy as he presses his face to my hair and breathes in. “You're the only good thing in the whole world, Katniss.” he mumbles against my skin.

 

But he wouldn't think that if he knew that I had one up on Rye. I'm responsible for _two_ dead bodies instead of one. I know Peeta would tell me it wasn't the same. But it was my job to protect them. Whether it was fair or not, it was my job, and I failed, I let something so stupid take away the one thing I had almost died for.

 

“You don't know that,” I say, reaching over him and turning out the light.

 

“You wouldn't hurt a fly unless you needed it for a stew.” He's both loopy and dorky enough that he cracks up at his own joke and I find myself actually smiling for a minute. I'm amazed how he can always do it. But the smile falls from my face soon enough and he asks what's wrong, peering at me through half-closed eyes.

 

I stare into the dark and eventually reply, “I never saw their bodies.” He's so silent that I think he's asleep until he makes a questioning noise. “My mom and my sister. I never saw their bodies.” I draw the covers up to my chin, pulling away from him. “I killed them.”

 

“What?” he asks dazedly. “What do you mean?”

 

“I was supposed to fix the outlet. I kept saying I'd fix it. Even my mother noticed it. I kept putting it off and putting it off and I don't even know why. Then I got up to hunt one morning and I came back and they were dead. I never saw their bodies because there wasn't anything left. Mom just never got up and Prim--” I wipe a shaking hand over my face. “Liked to sleep in the cellar when it was hot. Got trapped. All I had to do was fix the outlet. Five minutes...and they'd be alive now.”

 

“Katniss,” he murmurs. “It's not--”

 

“Not the same. I know,” I whisper. Even quieter, I say, “I should have been there. I should have been there to save them.” _I should have died, too._

 

No no no, I can't afford to think that way again. The stakes are even higher now.

 

\---

 

I must be truly exhausted because I collapse in my own bunk and sleep through the kids leaving. I drift awake at seven-thirty and panic for a moment before I realize Rye should have woken me up if I was late for work. What could that mean?

 

I creep up the stairs and see that the kitchen is already well-used, cinnamon rolls ready for the oven, loaves ready to cut. What the hell did Rye do after I went to sleep last night?

 

I go through the door to the front counter and almost fall over at the sight that greets me. Big brown eyes, spiky brown hair: Johanna Mason is standing behind the counter with Rye, looking deep in conversation. She's giving him a slight smile, one that's almost _sweet_.

 

She sees me over Rye's shoulder and nods to me. “Heya, Brainless. I was ready to throw a bucket of water on you an hour ago. Thank Rye for stopping me.”

 

“Jo, what are you doing here?”

 

“I called her up,” Rye says. His face is turning pink, something I've only seen when he's hungover. “I thought we needed some help.”

 

I try to gauge how much Johanna might know, but all she looks is unimpressed by everything around her, as usual.

 

“Yeah, we probably do,” I nod. “I'll be right back up. Did Peeta and the kids get off alright?”

 

“All clear,” he says.

 

“Great.”

 

I should know I won't be able to scurry downstairs without Johanna hot on my heels. “Peeta and the _kids_ , eh? Christ, you sound domestic. I'm getting claustrophobic just thinking about it. What are they doing off at the farm, anyway?”

 

“They needed help,” I say, changing into jeans and a t-shirt.

 

“Yeah, sounds so convincing.” She whistles. “You're really filling out, Everdeen. Must be nice for Mellark,” she snickers. “Aw, you still go all red! Are you gonna blush that hard when he pops--”

 

“Johanna!” I cry, putting my hands over my ears.

 

“Oh, boy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “So why's he off at the farm?”

 

“They needed help.”

 

“With what?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Look, Brainless,” she sighs. “I know something is going on. Rye called me up last night and said he needed help. He sounded serious. He wouldn't say what was going on, just that it was _real bad, Jo_. I know you know what it is.”

 

“They needed help at the farm,” I snap. “Just like we needed help here. It's not that weird.”

 

“Rye's going to tell me eventually, you know.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say, smoothing my hair.

 

“God, you really can't lie for shit.” She grabs my arm and pulls me closer. “Listen, if this is really that serious, you need to tell me. Do you wanna fucking get kicked out of here? Where you live with your boyfriend and your regular meals and nice bed--and your kiddies?”

 

And there is the strength I needed. I can keep this secret forever if I have to.

 

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Everything's fine, Jo.”

 

She gives me a scrutinizing look and says, “At least that was more convincing.” She sighs. “I'm gonna strangle both of you. You just better not have me covering up a drug ring or something.”

 

 _Nah, just a murder. An_ accident.

 

“No drugs,” I say brightly. “Let's sell some cookies! It's like old times, right?” I smirk.

 

“Yeah, except Mommy Dearest isn't in here calling me a whore. Rye said she's never around anymore. Didn't come home last night?”

 

I busy myself with tying my apron and say, “Yeah, but that's not the weird thing. The weird thing is Rye noticed her suitcase was gone. She usually at least tells him when she's going on a trip. I think he wants to call around and see if she's with one of her friends.”

 

“She's not answering her phone?”

 

 _Oh my god, did we even call?_ Of course you would call, it's the first thing you'd do. What were we thinking? This plan is a disaster. We'll be broken up and Posy will grow up and turn into—well, Johanna. Or me. Either one sounds bad.

 

“I guess not.” I push my braid over my shoulder and shrug. “I don't think it means much, but Rye is stressing about it.”

 

“Interesting. Rye doesn't stress about very much.”

 

“Maybe he just really loves his mother.”

 

Johanna is still laughing at that idea when we meet Rye at the counter. The rest of the day almost seems normal since Johanna already has a pretty good idea of what to do. The biggest difference is that I don't see Vick and Rory wrestling every time I turn around—I see Rye and Johanna flirting. It's truly disturbing, and I know disturbing.

 

We get through the day without the police storming in, so that's a good sign. Before we sit down to dinner, Rye says, “I'm gonna call and see if maybe Martha knows where Mom is.”

 

“When did she leave?” Jo asks me.

 

“I don't know,” I say, concentrating on setting out the dinner plates. “Didn't come home, suitcase was gone...I know as much as you.”

 

Johanna snorts and helps herself to a big glass of wine from the bottle Rye set out.

 

He comes back in with a slight frown and says, “Nada.”

 

Johanna looks between the two of us for a few long moments, tapping her chin.

 

“So,” she says, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Did ya kill her?”

 

I go still and look to Rye.

 

“Who? Martha?” he asks.

 

Johanna kicks him under the table. “Don't be a smart ass, Rye. You really expect me to believe you're just absolutely frantic about finding your psycho bitch mother? After, what, not even twenty-four hours? Remember the time she was gone for two weeks? So she's missing and you actually care and then they all of a sudden can't do without _eight_ extra hands at the farm? Two of which are, like, five years old.” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back. “I bet the body's out in the van right now, isn't it?”

 

Rye shakes his head with a smile. “You got a real sick mind, Jo.”

 

“Fine, don't tell me. Just let me know if you were at my place all night,” Jo smirks.

 

\---

 

When Rye returns from taking Johanna home, I ask him if he told her anything.

 

“I don't think I needed to,” he frowns. He gives me a grim smile and says, “Incidentally, the body _is_ in the van, and I _did_ have to wrap it in a freaking rug.”

 

I can't help laughing, morbid as it is, but then I think of something. “What if they can tell that the rug was moved?”

 

“I doubt they're gonna send fucking Monk over here.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Never mind. I'll clean it when we get back. I'll tell them I'm a neat freak and Mom missing is driving me to compulsive cleaning.”

 

“You're a good liar.”

 

“I'm about to get a whole lot better,” he snorts. “You ready for this?”

 

“No,” I admit. “You?”

 

“Hell no. But this is to protect you guys.” He looks away. “And if I finally can, I have to. Don't I?”

 

“Well, you have to help your brother.”

 

He nods and waves me towards the door. “Let's hit the road, little ghost. You think you can be all sneaky while you're digging?”

 

“I don't know. Do you have a good lie ready if we get caught?”

 

“We had to shoot Posy's dog and she's devastated and we didn't want her to see it,” he says smoothly.

 

The ride to the farm is spent in blackness. Rye knows the back roads to the property well enough to drive with the headlights off, crawling along to keep from kicking up gravel. There's not a soul in sight and the few houses we see are just shadows on shadows. We pull over to the back of the property next to the border fence and Rye almost jumps out of his skin when he catches a glimpse of Peeta coming towards us.

 

His arms are around me as soon as I'm on the ground, whispering my name.

 

“Are you okay?” I ask, running a hand over his side where his ribs are tightly bandaged under his jacket.

 

“I'll live.” He winces at his choice of words.

 

“How were the kids?”

 

“Suspicious. I thought I was gonna have to drug them to get them to go to sleep.”

 

“Let's hope they really are,” I say, knowing how sneaky Vick can be.

 

Rye sets the shovels on the ground next to the trunk. “Let's get this over with,” he whispers.

 

It's hard work, and it's hard to keep going when Peeta sits heavily on the ground next to the grave and starts to cry.

 

“The faster it's done, the faster we can go,” Rye mutters.

 

We all jump at every sound, but in the end, we stand over the newly turned dirt without a problem. Finally, the rug and the shovels are back in the van and we're ready to go.

 

Peeta and I stand at at the edge of the grave, hand in hand.

 

“Katniss?...”

 

I lean into him with a hum.

 

“Did you say you killed someone last night or did I imagine?...”

 

“You didn't imagine,” I whisper back.

 

"It that what's in your file? Katniss Everdeen, aged 16, never fixed the outlet?"

 

"Camellia and Primose Everdeen, deceased, electrical fire."

 

“You know it's not the same, right?” he sighs. He puts an arm around me. “You loved them.”

 

“I loved them,” I echo, huddling against him.

 

We stand there for a long moment until Rye finally whispers at us to hurry up. I kiss Peeta once, and then twice when I can't help myself. He shuffles off back to the house. I know he's in pain, but I want to scream at the amount of noise he manages to make. He becomes hard to make out after only a few seconds and then he's gone.

 

Rye and I get back in the truck and rumble into the blackness, creeping without sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this daring scheme work? Will our heroes go to juvie? Will Mrs. Mellark perhaps rise from the dead, thus leading to a zombie apocalypse AU sequel? Would you like to see Mrs. Mellark die AGAIN from blunt force trauma to the head, readers?
> 
> Also, this is NOT a good plan for covering up an accidental murder. Hopefully the odds will ~~~be ever in their favor.


	13. Epilogue

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

 

I wake up in Peeta's arms.

 

I'm not technically supposed to be sleeping here, but we're the adults in the house since Rye still hasn't been able to bring himself to move into the apartment above the bakery. It sits almost exactly as it did six months ago. Peeta and I have managed to avoid setting foot in the apartment since that night, but poor Rye was forced to go through it with a fine-toothed comb when Mr. Mellark finally decided that maybe an entire month _was_ a long time for someone to disappear.

 

Mr. Mellark had mostly been confused that there hadn't been any money taken out of the bank, but Rye had emptied the safe in the back of the bedroom closet—a safe Mr. Mellark knew nothing about, of course.

 

“Sorry, Dad,” Rye had said, clapping a hand over his father's shoulder. “I think Mom's really gone.”

 

That was the pivotal moment—what were the chances that Mr. Mellark would shake his son's arm off and shout, “I'll never stop looking! Never!”

 

Instead, after a long silence, he had nodded and said, “I think you might be right, son.”

 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Peeta sighs, snuggling against me. It's turning into the hard part of the winter and both our rooms are freezing, but his at least gives us some privacy. I try to always return to my own bed before Rory wakes up, or he'll never let me hear the end of it.

 

But today, all the kids are going nuts because it's the first day of winter break and Rye has offered to take them sledding. I had no idea what could have made him sign up for runny noses and potential broken bones until he lets it slip that Johanna is coming. Sledding is her favorite snow-time activity, right ahead of getting guys to write her name in pee.

 

So now Rye is the one getting up at eight to corral the kids, drag them through breakfast, and get them out of the house. I know it will go a lot faster when I hear Johanna in the kitchen. Vick and Rory fear and worship her in equal measures, and Posy adores her. She wants to cut all her hair off so she can look just like 'Jo Jo'.

 

It seems to take forever for them to get out of the house. There have only been a handful of times that we've been alone in the past few months, but I find myself suddenly feeling shy once silence echoes through the bakery.

 

I don't think Peeta has that problem.

 

He tightens his arms around me and says, “I thought they'd never leave. Does it always take that long to convince Posy to eat her oatmeal?”

 

“Oh, that was nothing. She practically volunteered.”

 

Under the blankets, his hands move to the buttons of my pajama top. He toys with the top button and presses his lips to a spot behind my ear that always makes me shiver. “How long will they be gone?”

 

“ _Hours_ ,” I grin.

 

Christmas has been hard for a few years, and this one will bring it's own challenges, but I know it will be the best one in a long time, filled with food and with this odd family that we've become. The first time I saw the bakery, I was just happy to be somewhere safe. I never thought it would become home.

 

But here I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I could have kept going in this universe forever, but I didn't want to end up with an abandoned fic.
> 
> Again, no offense to foster parents or social workers, and it is not this easy to get away with murder.
> 
> PS) Should I tag this for murder?...


End file.
